


Windows and Doors

by devylish



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devylish/pseuds/devylish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophie asks Eliot for a small favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer on profile.

"... and then you just... make your little donation, and your part is done."

"My part is done?" He snorted and then he shook his head and redirected his focus to the bigger issue. "Soph – this is a dumb idea. A dumb idea that you should probably be hittin' up Nate about, instead of me."

"It's NOT a dumb idea. It's... I... Nate is wrapped up in Maggie now. They're..., working on putting the pieces back together... and," her eyes widened and her lips tightened into a forced smile, "and they should be together. The two of them. I – I've come to realize that."

Eliot looked over at Sophie, trying to decipher from the shade of her eyes and the set of her jaw if she actually believed what she was saying, or if she was just trying to convince him..., or herself.

"I've let enough time pass by, waiting for 'something'," she sniffed and unwrapped her arms from her frame. Dropping her hand to the chair she stood next to, she picked a piece of lint off of the dark material. "...I've spent enough time waiting for Nate." She lifted her eyes to Eliot's. "I'm done waiting. I'm moving on."

"Ever heard of baby-steps?" He cringed at his unconscious choice of words.

Sophie smiled. "I can't afford baby-steps; I've wasted too much time as it is." She moved her hand along the chair's headrest. "In case you weren't aware, we women – unlike you men - don't have the luxury of just popping out a baby whenever we want to. We have a window. And my window is closing."

"Your window's not -"

"It's bloody-well closing Eliot!"

He tried another tack, "So you finally decide you're 'over Nate'" he air quoted the phrase, "and the first thing you want to do is get pregnant?"

"No, the first thing I wanted to do when I realized Nathan and I were over was to curl up in a ball and never leave my damn apartment." She moved forward and plopped – as much as Sophie Devereaux could ever plop – into the wingback chair. "I spent a whole weekend in a t-shirt and sweatpants." She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her eyes on the ground. "Me! A bloody t-shirt and sweatpants!"

Eliot chuckled at the thought. Sophie could pull off any look she wanted to, but he was pretty damn surprised that she even owned a pair of sweats. She answered his unspoken question as she continued.

"They were Nathan's." She lifted her eyes, her hair still hanging as a curtain in front of them. "On day three, I had a lovely cleansing ceremony involving fire starter and a metal garbage pail." She lowered her head again, but not before Eliot saw a faint, bitter smile grace her lips. "The second thing I wanted to do when I realized Nate and I were over, was go on a shopping spree. And I did that. See these Christian Louboutin's?"

She extended her foot and leg for his perusal, and he let his eyes trail over the curve of her calf and the turn of of her foot even though he'd already taken in her outfit, her shoes, her make-up - all of her – when he arrived at her place twenty minutes ago. He was, beyond being an astute observer/hitter, a man. And Sophie, Sophie had nice legs.

He looked but didn't say anything.

"Yes, well, I have them in red and blue as well." Looking back up at Eliot, her smile softened, "and now that I've fully shopped the bloody man out of my system? I need to move on. Move forward."

Eliot settled onto the coffee table across from Sophie. "With a baby?"

Her smile broadened. "With a baby."

He pushed back again. "Okay so, so you want to have a child, and you've ruled out Nate. Why... what the hell made you think I'd be willing to do this?" He stood up and walked to the other side of the room. "They have 'banks' for this kind of thing... You know... where they sell the stuff you, uh, need for this kinda thing. And they let you pick... I mean you could pick someone... someone else," he offered a self-deprecating smile. "Someone taller."

Sophie laughed at the normally unflappable Eliot's aversion to the words: sperm/sperm banks. Schooling her features she responded, "True, but I wouldn't know the father then."

"You'd know enough. You'd know their eye color, and I think they give you the guy's education level, and blood type and -"

Sophie stood up, "Could they tell me if he was a good man?" She took a few steps in Eliot's direction. "If I used a sperm bank, I wouldn't have any way of knowing if the father of my child was a good man, and oddly enough, even though I'm a grifter, having a child who has a good father is important to me.... I know that you're a good man, Eliot.."

He made himself stand still. And then he made himself ignore the scent of Sophie's perfume. And finally, he made himself avoid the argument he wanted to make regarding his own value, or lack thereof. He, instead, grasped at straws. "Hardison. What about Hardison?"

He answered his own question at the same time that Sophie did.

"Parker."

"Parker."

"She's a sweet girl, but I don't think she'd be willing to share him with me."

Eliot let a small chuckle escape him. "Parker definitely ain't the sharin' type."

Sophie took two steps closer to Eliot. "So that leaves... you."

And he once again made himself stand still. And he once again tried to make himself ignore the scent of her perfume. But this time, this time the flashes of what he'd done... what he did... what he would continue to do, couldn't be avoided, "I'm sorry Soph, but I'm not the right person... Choosin' me ain't... I -"

And then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Her dark eyes.

Perhaps she was playing him. The perfume. The fitted skirt. The 'just there' cleavage. The 'woman-is-my-middle-name' heels. The closeness.

Perhaps she was playing him.

But her eyes.

Her eyes read true to him. Her eyes were pleading with him. 'Closing window' or not, Sophie wanted a baby.

His baby.

He knew he was second choice. If Nate hadn't turned to Maggie. If Nate weren't a complete and total idiot when it came to Sophie – she'd be asking Nate to father her child. Hell if Nate weren't an idiot, Nate and Sophie would be going at it like rabbits and makin' themselves a baby – the old-fashioned way.

But Nate Ford was a blind idiot. At least when it came to Sophie. Always had been.

So, unfortunately for Sophie, she was left with the runner up.

Him.

… yeah. It had been a total and complete miscalculation on his part to look Sophie Devereaux in the eyes. Good. Bad. Evil. No matter what label belonged on him, Sophie needed him. And he'd never ever been the type of man who could turn down a woman in need.


	2. Negotiation

It had been two days since she'd asked Eliot for his help.

After trying to convince her that her plan was 'dumb', he'd bent, just a bit, and asked for a couple of days to think about her request.

And so she'd given him time.... And she'd twiddled her thumbs for two days.

Two bloody, long, days.

But now, her waiting was over; Eliot had finally contacted her and he wanted to talk.

Knocking on his apartment door, she frowned as the door cracked open beneath her hand. Eliot didn't strike her as the type to leave his door unlocked, but, then again, she'd received his text 'request' to come over to his place not more than twenty minutes ago so perhaps he'd left it open because he was expecting her.

"Eliot?" She pushed the door open a little further, tucking her head into the apartment. "Eliot? Are you here?" Steeling her backbone, she stepped over the threshold.

She'd only been to Eliot's apartment once before, and even then, she hadn't really entered his home; she'd simply hovered in the doorway with the rest of the team. 

Now that she was actually in the apartment, she was surprised by how cozy and inviting it was. She wasn't quite certain exactly what she'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. Dark oak floors, warm beige and tan rugs, exposed brick walls, and floor to ceiling book shelves framed the living space. The rustic, yet refined picture these items painted was completed by a couch that looked like heaven, flanked by two equally inviting oversized chairs. And there, was, of course, the obligatory flat panel big screen TV hanging on the wall across from the sofa... Eliot was, after all, a male.

Taking three or four steps into the apartment she paused and lifted her hands to her hips. "Eliot Spencer, where are you? You called me h-"

She spun around as she heard the door shut behind her.

Eliot stood leaning against the heavy wooden door, his body resting on his hands; his hands pressed against the door. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless t-shirt with a pair of those cut-off gloves he sometimes wore when he was sparring. A sheen of perspiration covered his arms and his chest.

"Jesus, Eliot!" She raised her hand to her chest. "Assassination by scaring a girl to death?"

He smiled and as he pushed away from the door, he pulled the earpods attached to his iPod out of his ears. "Sorry, I didn't hear you knock." He switched the iPod off, "I was working out when I remembered I hadn't opened the door or turned the alarm off." He nodded his head back over his shoulder to indicate the sophisticated alarm system mounted behind the door. Lifting his hand he gracefully pointed to the sofa and chairs. "Why don't we sit down and get this over with."

She felt a kernel of disappoint roll around in the pit of her stomach. _He was going to turn her down. He was going to say no to the In Vitro Fertilization._

She edged her way to one of the chairs, but instead of sitting down, she squared her shoulders and locked eyes with him. "I'd rather not sit down, if you don't mind."

He shrugged a shoulder and then the southern gentleman in him kicked in again, "Would you like a drink? I have a new Chablis I've been wantin' to -"

"Honestly, I don't want anything. As you said," She wrapped her arms around her waist, "let's get this over with." She prepared herself for his 'no'; for the failure of her latest, greatest, plan for a future. She watched him pull off his gloves, muscles in his forearms and biceps flexing and unfurling.

"Okay then," He ducked his head, his long hair falling over his shoulder as he scuffed the floor with his foot once, then twice, before he realized that he was acting like a child. Lifting his head he spoke. "Okay. I'll agree to do this thing, but only under three conditions."

_He agreed._

_He agreed!_

"Yes? You're saying yes?"

He nodded his head affirmatively and opened his mouth to remind her that it was a yes – with three conditions. But before he could say anything, Sophie was all over him. Squeezing him into a hug that he wasn't certain he could have broken out of..., even if he'd wanted to.

Sophie was probably the most openly tactile of the team. The one most likely to touch and be touched, but she was also British. Which meant she, stereotypically, hid behind some degree of reserve. That reserve was gone at the moment. And Eliot was benefiting from it. He put one hand around her waist to steady them both from her surprisingly enthusiastic hug.

Arm around Sophie, her frame pressed against his, he inhaled the subtle scents of her shampoo and her perfume. He let his arm tighten around her for half a second before he made himself lean away from her. "I'm sayin' yes... under three conditions."

Sophie finally heard more than 'yes' coming from his lips and squinting her eyes at him she asked, "Three conditions? What type of," she made herself stop speaking and pulling herself fully out of his grip she walked over to the couch and settled onto a cushion. "Give them to me – biggest to smallest."

Eliot tilted his head, first to his left shoulder and then to his right shoulder – ready to go to war.

"First – if we make a... if we're successful havin' a 'baby'," he said the word gingerly. "I'm gonna be in the child's life. My part won't just 'be done' when you find out you're pregnant."

"Oh." Sophie turned her head to the side. "You want to be involved." She couldn't honestly say that she was surprised by this caveat. Nathan, Hardison..., Eliot, not a one of them would willingly have a child and not want to be a father to that child. But Eliot, perhaps more so than the other two, would fight tooth and nail to remain in that child's life. She'd been aware that this might be a possibility before she asked him and... frankly, although she wanted to have a child... the responsibility? The thought of 3am feedings, croup, poopy nappies?... Yes, it would all be easier – and she imagined a little less scary - if there was someone else who she could at least share the difficulties with.

"Done."

Eliot opened his mouth to argue and then he realized she'd given in without a fight. "Done?" His voice reflected his surprise and Sophie smirked at him.

"Done."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Really?"

"Really... you can change the baby's nappies."

He grinned. "Oh gee... thanks darlin'."

She smiled, "If that's the worst condition you have for me –?"

"Uh," He scratched the back of his neck with a half smile, "I may have accidentally," _or purposefully,_ "misordered my demands a bit." Moving to the edge of the couch he sat on the cushioned arm. "Condition number two." He paused and approached the topic from a different direction. "I'm not a stud horse."

"What?"

"I'm not gonna be paraded out to the team when you find out you're pregnant and just labeled 'the sperm donor'."

"So you want to be involved in the up-bringing of the child, but you don't want people to know you fathered it?"

"No. No. Just the opposite. I want people to think - to know - that I am responsible for the child, for the making of the child... I..." He stood up again. "Look if everyone thinks we're foolin' around with one another and you get pregnant, it'll seem more... more natural than if people think we just did things to get a baby." He stopped pacing and faced her. "Get it?"

She quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

"Damnit." He mumbled under his breath and paced a few more steps before trying again. "Okay my second condition is that while we're workin' on gettin' you pregnant, you and I make the rest of the team think we're datin'."

She noticed in passing that Eliot's southern accent was increasing – he was getting frustrated. "No."

It was his turn to raise his brows.

Sophie crossed her legs determinedly. "We're not going to pretend to play footsie just so Parker and Hardison and, and Nathan think you're...," she flushed as she tried to find the right words, "just so they don't think you...," her back ramrod straight, she finally spit it out, "we're not going to fake a relationship just so that your pride isn't bruised."

"What about your pride?"

"My pride?"

"If people are going to think I'm being used as a stud in this little plan, what do you think they're going to think you're being used as?" He settled onto the coffee table across from Sophie and pressed his point. "They may think you're a bit of a bitch darlin'."

"A... a... bitch!?"

"The Stud is used for breeding, the Bitch is the one who's bred."

Sophie pursed her lips.

Eliot continued, "Now it's true that I don't particularly want our team to think I'm the guy who was used for his, uh – goods – but I'm also thinking that you don't really want to be known as the girl who bought herself, uh...," he glanced down at Sophie's hips then pushed forward, "the girl who bought herself a baby."

"I'm not paying you for your... your sample!"

"True, but you're payin' the doctors, and the clinic for their services."

"Women are using IVF all the time these days. There's nothing wrong with a single woman starting a family on her own. Not now. Not in this day and age!" Sophie lifted her chin defiantly. "There's nothing wrong with it at all!"

"Nah, of course there's not." Eliot leaned back, his hands resting on the table, "Not a thing in the world wrong with it. I'm just sayin' that if we pretend to be a couple while we're workin' on this gettin' you pregnant thing, there would be no questions whatsoever – from anyone – 'bout how you got pregnant, or..." he stressed the next word, "why you got pregnant."

Sophie narrowed her eyes. _Damn him._ Eliot was not a dumb man; and anyone who thought that he was – just because he was so physical and had a southern accent – was in for a rude awakening. Sophie had just been gently reminded of how smart he was. He'd pushed just the right buttons to get her to question her resolution to announce, loudly and proudly, that she was trying to conceive through IVF.

It was one thing for her to be okay with the process, it was quite another for everyone around her to think that she was using IVF - using a baby – to get over Nate. She knew she was trying to get pregnant because she was well and truly done with Nate; done with waiting for life to bring her that damn knight in shining armor. She knew she wanted a child because she wanted a child. But no one else would know that. Even if she told them, Eliot was right to suggest they wouldn't believe her.

With a frustrated sigh she realized it would be easier for her, and perhaps kinder to Eliot, if she let everyone think she and Eliot were an item. Then when she became pregnant, no one would think it was because of Nathan... Nathan and Maggie.

_Shit!_ "Damn you, Eliot."

He smiled that smile of his that said he'd just won something. Something big. "I take it that's a yes?"

She tightened her lips. "Fine. We'll pretend to date for a little while." She gave a false little smile, "anything not to bruise your pride."

He gave a dark chuckle and responded sarcastically, "Thanks Soph." He knew saving his pride had nothing to do with her acquiescence. Sophie was a self-preservationist; especially when it came to avoiding being embarrassed. And Nate and the team thinking she'd rebounded from Nate to IVF would be embarrassing to her.

_Great, he had two conditions down, only one to go. One big one._

"Final condition?" She settled back against the couch.

He decided he needed a drink in order to broach this final demand; excusing himself, he stood up and headed into the kitchen.

Reaching into the refrigerator for a beer, he hesitated for half a second as he thought about grabbing one for Sophie. She wasn't a big beer girl, but more importantly, anything he gave to her might be used as a projectile against him. Shrugging his shoulders, he picked up a second beer and grabbed a bottle opener as he headed back into the living room.

Popping open both of the bottles he silently handed one to Sophie.

She accepted it and peered up at him questioningly as she took a sip. "Well this doesn't bode well, the last condition requires that you liquor me up?"

He chugged down a gulp of his own beer before giving a small smile. "Actually, the last condition requires that I liquor myself up," he nodded his head at the beer that she held in her hand, "I'm just a gentleman."

"Alright Mr. Spencer, what the hell is the last condition? Your gentlemanliness is scaring me." _Seriously, what the hell was his final demand? He'd asked her to fake-date him for god-sake, what could be worse than that?_

He took another long drag of his beer then sat down on the coffee table again. Locking eyes with her he made his final demand. "Okay Soph, my final condition is that we work on getting you pregnant the old-fashioned way."

"The old fash -" Sophie suddenly realized what Eliot was suggesting and she went from questioning to speechless within two seconds. "Are you kidding me?" She stood up and then sat back down immediately. "You're joking right?" She ducked her head to catch his eyes which were once again hidden behind his damn hair. "Eliot, you're simply messing with me right?"

_No, but I will be messing with you if everything goes according to plan._ "Uh, no, I'm being as honest as Lincoln."

"What the hell ever made you think I would agree to," she glanced at his compact, powerful frame, not that she hadn't ever imagined what it – he – would be like, but... that's not what this was about. It was one thing to pretend they were dating to, well save face, it was quite another to become bed buddies. "You've taken one too many hits to the head haven't you?"

"Soph, calm down. Have some more beer and hear me out."

She ignored him and put her bottle down next to his. "What possible argument could you present to make me agree to sleep with you?"

He lifted his shoulders and drew his head back. "What? Am I an ogre?"

"Oh please Eliot. You know this has nothing to do with you being..." she glanced at his muscled form again, "with you being unattractive." She made eye contact then quickly looked away, "you're damn beautiful and you know it!" Standing up she began to pace; puting some distance between them. "What the hell makes you think I would agree to... to something like this?" She spun around, "Or are all of these little demands of yours your way of trying to wiggle out of helping me?"

"Soph -"

"That's it, isn't it? You don't approve of my plan and so you're throwing up these damn roadblocks to try and deter me!"

He stood up, "Soph -"

She hugged her frame, anger and frustration dancing through her frame. "You can go and get your jollies somewhere else because you're bloodywell not -"

Eliot took two strides around the coffee table and grabbed Sophie's upper arms. He fought the desire to shake some sense into her. "Listen woman; I'm not tryin' to talk you outta this anymore. And you're right, I could go and get my rocks off with someone else, lots of someone elses, so that's not what this is about either."

"Then what is it about?"

Eliot had his reasons; but he couldn't share them with Sophie. Not all of them. Not yet. Rubbing his thumbs along her biceps he took a shallow breath.

"I'm not a stud horse."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I think we've established that. What -"

"While there's nothing wrong with people using invitro, or whatever, to have a child, You have to admit, my going to the sperm bank, and dropping off a supply, and then you going to the sperm bank and having them shoot you up with that... supply, makes it all seem more... more... clinical."

She pulled herself out of his grip. "Yes, well, it is clinical. Clean and precise." She let her eyes drop down along Eliot's frame. "More precise than... other methods."

"And not nearly as much fun."

Sophie fought the blush that threatened to creep up her neck and face. She wasn't the blushing type. Normally. "So this is about having fun?"

"Against having a little fun?"

"No, I'm not against having fun, but that's not the purpose of our doing this. The goal is to make a baby."

"Six months."

"What?"

"We try to get you pregnant, the old fashioned way, for six months... And if it doesn't work, I'll," Eliot grimaced, "I'll deliver as many samples as you want into the hands of the sperm bank of your choice."

"Why can't you just deliver the samples now. Why this, this," she lifted her hands and shoulders in a shrug, "caveat?"

"I have my reasons... Look, honestly, I'd rather not tell a child of mine that she was conceived one night when dad jerked off to a porn video at Dr. Johnson's office. I'd rather be able to tell her that mom and dad dated for a while, liked each other, and got lucky and created a beautiful dark haired little angel." He crossed his arms over his chest, "And you can't tell me that my version of conception isn't more appealing."

"Appealing to whom?" Sophie muttered under her breath.

"I've been told I'm not hard on the eyes. You're gorgeous. We're both single. We're wantin' to create a baby. Why NOT do it the right way?"

Sophie raised a brow and opened her mouth to protest his choice of words.

"Alright, okay, not the 'right' way, the 'natural' way."

"So basically, you want me to sleep with you so we have a better story to tell our child regarding his conception?"

"And so that I don't feel like a slab of horse meat being led into the lab, milked for all he's worth, then sent back out to pasture."

Sophie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the picture Eliot painted but he saw the tale-tell quiver of her lips and pressed his vantage.

"Look, we both work long, unpredictable hours, we travel a lot, we have jobs we can't really talk to a lot of people about... I don't know about you, but while the one-night stands are easy to add up, the people I feel comfortable around... who I don't mind spending time with, are far and few between." He shrugged his shoulders, "It would be kinda nice to have someone around, for a few months, who I didn't have to watch my step, or my words around. Someone I didn't have to explain my hours, or where I'd been, to. Us doing this thing together...? would maybe make life a little easier for both of us for a while."

He could see Sophie trying to decipher the meaning behind his words and he backed away from the truth... leading her down another path. "It could be an easy, no strings attached relationship, with the end goal of baby production." He turned on a little bit of charm. "A pleasurable, no strings attached, easy relationship."

Sophie fought the little frisson of energy that curled in her stomach. _This is Eliot. Eliot. He's not for you._ The imp on her other shoulder responded, _But you could have him for a little while. Just say yes._

It wasn't as if she really wanted him. He was a sweet boy... or... man, but he was clearly drawn to petite, southern bred blondes, of which she definitely was not. That being said, she'd be a liar, as well as a thief, if she denied ever having thought about what kind of lover he'd be. He was lovely, in face and body, and well, of heart. His good heart, body and face were all reasons she'd chosen to ask him to help her with this plan in the first place.

And they were all legitimate reasons for her to have wondered, every once and a while what he'd be like in bed.

But wondering didn't equate to wanting.

And neither wanting nor wondering equated to 'having'.

She looked in his eyes, ready to say 'no' to his final demand. And then she weighed the argument one more time. They were weak arguments for jumping into someone's bed: His pride. His – their – loneliness... The pleasure of having someone near who they could be themselves around... But that last reason... Eliot read her probably better than anyone else on the team. Even better than Nathan did. Eliot could read her stances, and her hands, and her face. He read them, and he didn't judge them (normally). How lovely would it be to spend her free time with someone who she could maybe let her guard down around. Not all the way, of course, but even just a little bit; knowing he wouldn't lambast her for who she was.

It was, oddly enough, this final argument that won her over. That made her say yes. Eliot's final condition - the sex clause -was agreed to by her because of his offer to allow her to be herself – no judgments made.

"Fine. Six months. And after the six months you'll go to the clinic with me and we'll let technology and science do their part."

"If you're not already pregnant."

She rolled her eyes. She doubted that pregnancy would happen for her through normal routes.

She was 42, she'd been on the pill longer than she cared to admit, and sex was, at best, hit or miss when it came to impregnation. IVF had much higher success rates. "Yes, right, of course, as long as I'm not already pregnant."

Pulling away from Eliot's too-close frame, she headed to the door; her emotional shields firmly back in place, her mind whirling with the new twists and turns to her plan. She could do this. She could still have what she wanted. She would just need to... bend a little bit more to get what she wanted. But anything worth having... "I'll let you finish your work out; why don't we plan on starting things after next week's job is finished?"

Eliot nodded his head in silent agreement and let Sophie talk her way out of the apartment. Picking up the gloves he'd discarded a few minutes ago, he headed into the spare bedroom, his workout room. He held his hand out to measure the distance to the punching bag, before starting back in on a regiment of quick, forceful left jabs. A small, hopeful, smile graced his face as he punched; Sophie Devereaux was going to be his.


	3. Sure Thing

Planning exactly when and how you're going to have sex with someone isn't as easy as you might think; and it definitely wasn't as easy as Sophie Devereaux had hoped it would be.

 

The teams' last job had just finished, with all of them escaping unscathed, and they'd been back in town for three days and... well, nothing had happened between her and Eliot. 

 

He hadn't mentioned their plan. He hadn't so much as looked at her suggestively. And he hadn't jumped her, which she had, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, half thought he might do. Oh, he wasn't ignoring her completely, he sat next to her during meetings, did the polite things a gentleman does.... But..., well, Eliot was always a gentleman.

 

She'd sent him subtle, questioning, looks. She'd dropped innuendo filled hints. She'd even shared a raunchy, old, British joke with Parker – within Eliot's hearing -- hoping he'd take a hint, make a move... any move, that indicated he remembered their little deal.

 

Nothing.

 

He'd apparently missed her curved glances. Failed to understand her veiled sexual references. And the joke she'd painstakingly memorized and shared with Parker? He'd laughed out loud at it, and then gone into the kitchen to get a beer.

 

A bloody beer.

 

She was seriously contemplating heading over to Eliot's place wearing nothing but her highest heels, her favorite black Burberry trench coat, and a smile. 

 

Perhaps if she flashed him she might finally get a rise out of him.

 

She was about to let go of the vestiges of her pride and do just that when Eliot cornered her outside of the team office, four days after their return from The Queen and Knight Job. 

 

She'd just reached out to pull the door open when a hand pressed the door shut. She spun around in surprise and sighed inwardly when she realized the hand belonged to Eliot. The sigh of relief quickly turned into a glare of anger and discomfort. Eliot was getting entirely too good at sneaking up on her. She zeroed in on her anger and lifting a brow, she arched, “Forget how to 'open' a door?”

 

Eliot ignored her attitude and her question and asked one of his own. “Are you free tonight?”

 

Her stomach flipped. _Don't blush. Don't even think about blushing! You're a fully grown woman, not some pubescent girl. And he's just a man. A too-close man._

 

Sophie made herself count to five. “I could probably rearrange some things.”

 

He let a small grin soften the lines of his face and as his body moved just a little bit closer to hers so that he could grasp the handle she'd released, he responded, “I'll pick you up at 6:30.”

 

Tugging the door open, and forcing her to either embrace him or slip to the side, he chuckled when she 'eeped' and moved around him, heading through the door and into the office.

 

((())))

 

She looked at her reflection in the mirror and grimaced. The Arizona sun from their most recent job hadn't done her skin any good. Not that she was an overly vain woman. She wasn't. But she also knew that her looks were a part of her success as a grifter. Being a good looking woman, a woman who made men take a second glance, had opened a lot of doors for her; doors that led to money, art, jewels... the good life. So her momentary dismay at the appearance of fine lines next to her eyes was understandable. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Eliot was going to be seeing her up close and personal in twenty or less minutes.

 

Putting on a thin layer of moisturizer, she grabbed her mascara and carefully applied a layer on her upper and lower lashes. She made a couple of light swipes with the blusher, and then she picked up a tube of her favorite lipstick.

 

Staring at her reflection, she studied the final picture she had created. Polished, pretty, serene. The eyes that stared back at her didn't look even slightly nervous or uncertain. She was good at lying... even to herself.

 

(())

 

 

The Carnival. The bloody man had taken her to the bloody carnival.

 

She'd expected him to pick her up and take her to a hotel or to his place maybe; maybe she'd even expected him to wine and dine her before 'jumping her bones', but she hadn't expected him to take her to a Carnival. To take her to a carnival, to make her laugh, to make her (okay, he didn't have to twist her arms for this one) eat funnel cake; and then, for him to drop her back at her apartment with a casual, “Lunch on Sunday?”

 

They were standing in front of her building when he asked her to lunch, and she was so... confused that she had simply nodded her head affirmatively. When Eliot had leaned forward and kissed her cheek, the scent of his cologne, mild but ever so 'Eliot-ish' filled her senses. And she'd almost pulled at the edge of his sleeves; almost invited him up to her place... to get started on their deal.

 

Almost.

 

But he was bounding down the front steps, towards his truck, away from her, faster than she could even wrap her mind around the fact that he'd asked her out – twice.

 

She'd spent the rest of the night confused. They'd had a nice time at the carnival. A very nice time. But they weren't suppose to be having nice times, or fun times. Well, at least not that kind of 'fun times'.

 

They were suppose to be working on making a baby. 

 

A trip to the carnival, or lunch on a Sunday... neither one of them equaled baby-making.

 

She had hoped that limited - maybe 'no' – talking would be needed. That they'd just wait until she was ovulating, fall into each other's beds and... well... make a baby. Or at least try to. She'd even been prepared for them to have to … practice the baby-making a few times. A few non-ovulating times, just to make certain that when it counted, they were on the mark. 

 

But no where in her calculations had a Carnival or a lunch been part of the plan.

 

She was an excellent improviser, but that didn't mean she liked it when her plans went awry. 

 

((())))

 

Eliot had been subtle about introducing the topic of 'Sophie and Eliot dating' to the team. Subtlety being defined as 'all action, no words'. 

 

Since The Queen and Knight job, he'd taken to sitting next to Sophie whenever the team met. Sitting close. He held doors open for her (well, okay, he held doors open for Parker too, but...). He'd also taken to touching her. He placed his hand along her back as he passed by her, or he would touch her arm when he wanted to get her attention, versus just callin' out her name. His plan was simple, but twofold. One – the closer he was to Sophie, the easier it would be to acclimate her to his presence. Two – the more often the gang saw him 'with Sophie' the easier the news of their being together would be to deliver.

 

He should have known their team wouldn't take to 'subtle' too well.

 

(())

 

“Okay, what's going on with you two?” 

 

This question came from Hardison. 

 

Eliot glanced at Sophie and saw the faint, ever so brief, look of panic that flitted through her eyes. Turning back to Hardison, he played dumb. “What's going on with who two?”

 

“Naw! Naw... that right there... that look you just exchanged. There's something going on between the two of you.” Hardison turned to Parker, “You were right, there's definitely something going on with them.” 

 

Parker continued to stare into her bowl of popcorn, carefully selecting the kernels that were the most attractive. Without looking up she mumbled around the pieces she'd already thrown into her mouth. “Told you. They've been whispering.” She smiled as she selected a 'Parker perfect' kernel. “And they've been sitting too close; like for the last week.” She threw five more pieces into her mouth, while with her free hand, she waved towards the couch Eliot and Sophie were seated on. “Like now.”

 

Sophie attempted to surreptitiously move away from Eliot, but she stopped when she realized that moving her thigh away from his would only bring attention to their close proximity.

 

Parker continued. “And they touch. They touch all the time now.” She scanned the remaining popcorn in the bowl and frowned. With a sigh she pushed the bowl away and finally looked up at her teammates. “At least..., Eliot touches Sophie.”

 

Without sparing a second glance at Sophie, Eliot responded. “Fine. Sophie and I are datin'.” He leaned forward and picked up his cup of coffee.

 

The room was silent for a second before Alec asked, “That's it? That's all you're going to say?” 

 

Eliot nodded his head and settled back on the couch.

 

Sophie opened her mouth, then shut it. She and Eliot hadn't discussed exactly how they were going to tell the team that they were 'together', but she assumed this was as good a way as any.

 

Actually since Nate hadn't returned to the office with Maggie yet, maybe this _was_ the best way to share the news.

 

“How long have you two been dating?” Hardison shot out.

 

“Two weeks,” Eliot responded without looking up.

 

“Why didn't you tell any of us you were dating?”

 

“... None of your business.” Eliot shifted even closer to Sophie; his shoulder pressed against hers.

 

“Does Nate know?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Parker piped in, “Have you had sex yet?”

 

Simultaneously:

 

Hardison - “Parker!”  
Eliot - groan  
Sophie - “No!”

 

Parker peered at her teammates, “What? I wanted to know!” 

 

Hardison closed his eyes and shook his head.

 

(()))

 

“What are you doing?” She hissed out of the side of her mouth.

 

Eliot leaned closer to her as the couple in front of them stepped away from the counter, and whispered, “I’m holding your hand.”

 

She plastered on a grin as the teen manning the counter made eye contact. _Of course he was holding her hand. She bloody well knew he was holding her hand. What she wanted to know, was:_ “Why are you doing, what you're doing?” She attempted to tug her hand from his as gracefully as possible, but he had a firm grip. 

 

“One Genuine Draft, one Chardonnay, and,” he glanced at Sophie and then back to the cashier, “an order of nachos.” When the cashier moved off to collect their drinks, Eliot looked back at Sophie and quietly intoned: “How are you going to handle me touching,” his eyes drifted down to her chest, “other parts of you if you can't even handle me touching your hand?”

 

She swallowed, this was their fifth 'date' in the past two weeks, and it was the first time that he'd directly alluded to the fact that they were going to have sex... at some point. 

 

Lunch a week ago on Sunday had turned out to be an Eliot created picnic at the Zoo. And it had been just as disconcertingly fun as the carnival had been. And yes, you heard her correctly, Eliot had taken her to a carnival and a zoo picnic. 

 

She was not that kind of girl. 

 

At least, she hadn't thought she was, but Eliot... Eliot apparently thought otherwise. And apparently he was right. She'd enjoyed every moment of traipsing around the carnival, the zoo, the bookstore, and the park; she'd enjoyed every moment spent talking with Eliot. And it was causing her no degree of uneasiness to realize that she was enjoying – not just the activities – but spending time with Eliot. 

 

None the less, she was going to have to have a serious discussion with Eliot regarding these little dates. They were a waste of her time and more importantly for him, they were a waste of HIS time. 

 

“It's not that I can't handle you touching me, it's just that,” she delivered a low-ball shot, “It might be more gentlemanly if you gave a girl some warning. I was just... surprised.”

 

Eliot smiled faintly at Sophie's jibe, and accepted the beer, glass of wine, and table number the cashier handed to him. 

 

Passing the wine to Sophie as they stepped away from the counter, Eliot stage whispered, “Now don't be afraid..., I'm going to put my hand on your waist. I repeat, don't be afraid.”

 

She pursed her lips in a weak attempt to keep herself from smiling. “Touche, Mr. Spencer,” she responded as he slid his hand around her waist and guided her to the theater their film was showing in.

 

The theater was fairly empty, it was after all, a Wednesday evening, at an art-house theater that was playing a twenty year old movie. But this emptiness meant she and Eliot had their choice of seats.

 

Selecting a small table in the middle of the upper section of the cinema, Eliot held Sophie's chair out for her, before placing their number on their table and settling down next to her. 

 

Dropping his arm onto the back of her chair, Eliot looked inquisitively at Sophie. “You've honestly never seen The Last of The Mohicans?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “All U.S. children may grow up playing 'cowboys and indians', but Native Americans aren't exactly big parts of British lore... or theatre.”

 

“Yeah, but you're an actress, and this is movie...,” he leaned forward on the table, keeping his head close to hers so that she could hear his lowered voice, “this movie is a classic.”

 

Sophie laughed, “It was released twenty years ago, it's barely aged enough to be considered 'old' much less to be considered a classic.” She leaned in towards him. “Casablanca, North By Northwest, Guess Who's Coming To Dinner - hell, I'd even give you Monty Python and The Holy Grail - are classics. But The Last Of The Mohicans?”

 

As Sophie spoke, Eliot tried to focus on her words, but apparently, his ability to 'hear' her had been seriously damaged by her request for him to impregnate her. He'd always been distracted by her beauty - more distracted than he was truly comfortable with - but ever since she'd included him in on her little plan to have a baby, he'd found himself increasingly unable to ignore the physical distraction of 'Sophie'. And the ability to ignore distraction? That was one of the skills he'd honed through the years. A skill that had kept him alive more than a few times. It was... disconcerting to not be able to rely on that skill. 

 

Now, instead of being able to perform the simple task of taking in and processing Sophie's words, Eliot found himself hyperaware of her eyes – and the dark sparks that flitted through them as she spoke. He was also aware of how her lips moved and formed around her words, and something, low in his gut, wondered how her eyes would spark, how her lips would move, when they were in bed with one another. 

 

Oh, on some level he was still registering her mild derision of the American obsession with 'cowboys and indians', but for the most part, he was in a whole other world. Sipping his beer he responded, “One, there are no cowboys in this movie. Two, the lead actor is British. Famous British.” When she rolled her eyes, he sighed and added, “You'll like the film, believe me, it's a Sophie kind of flick.”

 

She snorted lightly and sipped at her wine. Flicking an invisible piece of dust off of her shoulder, she tried to ignore the sudden thought that Eliot probably knew her just well enough indeed, to know if she would/would not like a film. He'd been surprisingly astute about knowing what she would like on all of their other dates. No man - no person - that she could think of, would have ever taken her to the Zoo on a... date. And who would have thought to take her on a ferris wheel at a carnival?

 

No one but Eliot.

 

As she took another sip of her wine, the waitstaff stopped at their table with their order of nachos.

 

She eyed the plate; the plate filled with cheesy, beefy, tortilla goodness. Her eyes narrowed. She could feel the pounds going to her hips already. She lifted an eye towards Eliot only to find him looking at her, a daring smirk on his face.

 

Yes, yes she wanted the nachos, but damnit, she'd never have ordered them on her own. Yet, Eliot had known. Known she'd want them, and as she lifted her hand to the plate she realized, he'd known she'd eat them... because she couldn't avoid a dare. 

 

And there was a dare in Eliot's eyes.

 

Wrapping a piece of cheese around a chip, she fought back passive aggressively. “You do know this is a waste of time don't you?”

 

He frowned, “The movie?”

 

'No. Yes.... All of it.” She reached for one of the napkins that had been delivered with their food. Lowering her voice as if she was discussing the specifics of one of their cases, “This 'taking me out' thing; it's a waste of time.” Arching an eye in his direction she added, “In case you weren't aware, 'I'm a sure thing.'”

 

A faint smile graced Eliot's face. “Pretty Woman.”

 

Sophie reached for another, larger cheese covered chip. “Now that's a classic; a 'chick flick' classic, but a classic none the less.” She sighed, “the point of my apropos quote wasn't, however, to impress you with my movie trivia knowledge, it was to impress upon you that I’m 'a sure thing', and you can just...” Gathering her wits about her she blurted out, “These past two weeks? You do realize that they're coming out of your allotted six months, don't you?”

 

“They're --”

 

“... coming out of your allotted six months. You're simply wasting your own time. For no reason at all.”

 

“It's not a waste.”

 

“It is... It IS! What the hell reason could you possibly have for taking me to the Zoo? Or here for that matter? This is an utter, utter waste of --”

 

Sophie's argument was abruptly ended by Eliot's placement of his hand at the back of her neck and his tugging her - nearly out of her own seat and into his - closer and shutting her up with a kiss.

 

_Their first kiss._

 

He tasted a bit like the beer he'd been nursing, and a bit like mint. And a lot like 'Eliot'. Or at least, a lot like what she'd imagined Eliot would taste like. And in the span of five seconds she went from frustrated, to shocked, to pleasured. 

 

 _They... he... was kissing her!_ Eliot was finally kissing her. Firmly, insistently... softly. She'd seen his gentleness at play with others in the past, so she shouldn't be quite as surprised by it as she was, but, she **was** surprised. Despite his frustration with her snipping at him he was... gentle. 

 

She lifted both of her hands, one still holding her glass of wine, to Eliot's shoulders, and just as she did so, Eliot stopped kissing her.

 

His face still close to hers, his fingers still at the curve of her head, he whispered, “It's not a waste.” He brushed his nose against hers, and smiled as her eyes finally fluttered open. “Just... think of it as... foreplay.”

 

Her breath hitched as she looked in his eyes - his irises larger than normal. And then her breath caught again when Eliot added, a promise lacing his voice, “It's always better with a little foreplay, even when you're dealin' with a 'sure things'.”


	4. On The Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I hit R with this chapter, based on language and sensuality?

She was going to kill him; he was pretty certain about that.

Or at least, she was going to try and kill him.

Sophie Devereaux did not like being thwarted; no one did - but Sophie? Being told 'no', being refused what she wanted? Yeah, she absolutely hated it. And the fact that Eliot was successfully making her want things... and then denying her those things? Yeah, that put him on her: 'kill as soon as humanly possible' list.

He'd feel bad for her if it wasn't all part of his plan; and if he wasn't having so much fun.

The fun - yet life-threatening – part of his plan revolved around keeping Sophie on edge. He'd basically spent all of the past week catching her off guard; catching her when and where she was least expecting it. Catching her and, well, heating her up a bit.

()

Quietly moving into the kitchen behind her, he slipped one hand over her mouth and the other around her waist – high on her ribs. He whispered a quick, “It's me,” and smiled faintly when he felt her body relax. 

Of course, if recent history was anything to go by, she wouldn't be relaxed for long.

Touching his tongue along the edge of her ear, he splayed his right hand along her ribcage; the undercurve of her left breast just touching the top of his hand. After a few seconds he moved his left hand from her mouth to her throat and began to trail little, soft kisses along her neck and jaw. 

“Eliot.” Her voice was low – in part because the rest of the team were mere feet away from them in the outer office – in part because she was already attempting to control herself; control the situation. 

His Sophie was nothing if not a fan of control. 

It really was too bad for her that he didn't want her in control. It was too bad that the only way he could see himself winning this little game they were playing, was if he kept her off kilter; out of sorts. 

_Only, it wasn't a game_ , he thought as he continued his slow assault on her neck. For him, it wasn't a game. 

For two, almost three minutes, they stood like this, one of his hands at her torso, his mouth traversing from one side of her throat to the other. Breath and senses heightened.

Finally he pressed his frame fully against Sophie's; his chest and thighs against her body. He took a step forward and Sophie 'followed' his lead, stepping forward towards the counter. 

“Eliot?” Her voice was huskier now; he was working that juncture where her jaw and her neck met... that place that he'd already categorized and filed away as a weak spot. A: 'Sophie melts right here' spot. 

He inhaled the light scent of the jasmine and lilac she wore and he could feel his hardened length against the curve of her ass... and from the sound of her breathing, he could tell she could feel it too.

Allowing himself one more soft, almost chaste kiss along the tendon on the right side of her neck, he stepped away and dropped his hands away from her.

She turned half way around – to confront him – then thought better of it and continued her trip to the refrigerator, muttering a simple “You little shit!”

He bit the inside of his cheek and gingerly adjusting himself, he left the room.

(())

_It was the hormones. It had to be the hormones._ She'd stopped taking the pill four weeks ago, and clearly, her body and emotions were wreaking havoc on her. That was the only explanation she could give for the absolutely ridiculous reaction she was having to Eliot... to Eliot and his damn hands and lips and... oh hell, his whole body. They still hadn't consummated their... whatever it was that they should call their little 'thing', but he'd definitely laid the groundwork. 

_Damn him._ Every time she turned around, he was behind her, or in front of her, or next to her; his lips on hers, his hands on parts of her body that they probably shouldn't be on – driving her unwittingly insane.

She took a deep breath... well, she doubted it was truly 'unwittingly'. She was pretty certain that all of this was still part of Eliot's definition of foreplay. But for her, it was torture. His 'foreplay' was... disconcerting. She was responding more than she wanted to - more than she had thought she would - to his advances. And for the first time..., for the first time since she'd considered Eliot as a possibility for her little plan, the danger of having him as... well, the _danger_ of _**having him**_ was at the forefront of her consciousness.

She hadn't expected to feel this... well... she simply hadn't expected to feel.

And she was feeling all sorts of things; most of them directly below her waist. She was... okay with the below the waist 'feelings'. Eliot was an attractive, virile man. So those, yes those she was okay with. It was the 'not below the waist' twinges that she was feeling - here and there - that truly had her worried.

Cracking open her bottle of water she took a sip, and then another. A week of him teasing her with the promise of 'more to come'.... _She really didn't like being teased._

Of course, as soon as she thought this, she flushed at the recollection of Eliot cornering her at her car a couple of days ago.

()

He'd opened the car door, ostensibly, she'd thought, for her to get in. But instead of guiding her into the driver's seat, he'd slipped his hand to her waist, moved around her and settled himself into the seat. So she ended up standing in front of him with one of his hands at her waist the other at her hip. Without looking up at her, he'd slowly lowered both of his hands to the hem of her skirt and slipped his fingers beneath the fitted material.

“Eliot!” She'd hissed, looking around the lot to see who might be watching. Not seeing anyone she relaxed slightly, but she still pushed her hand against his shoulder trying to dissuade him from doing what he seemed intent on doing.

He silently ignored her, sliding his hands higher and higher along her legs, skimming the outside of her thighs with his fingers. There were calluses on his hands, and the pads of his fingers created a frisson that was both disturbing and delectable. She hadn't wanted to encourage him, but... his hands... ! Her fingers crept from his chest to his shoulder and they curled in. 

“Did you see the last page of the profile on our next mark?”

'Mark? He wanted to talk about work? Now? Now when his hands were... where his hands were?!' 

He stroked his thumbs along the lace that covered her pelvic bone, and he asked again: “Soph? Did you see the last page?”

She answered him, 'yes/no' she still wasn't certain what she'd said, but it had earned a chuckle and had ended his little exploration of what was hidden beneath her skirt.

She'd groaned. A frustrated, irritated groan.

And Eliot had continued to chuckle as he stood up. Kissing her on the nose he tugged the material of her skirt down fully before lightly tapping her ass. “See you tonight,” he delivered, then walked away from her. Leaving her rather embarrassed, rather pissed, and rather aroused.

()

So maybe she **did** like being teased. Teasing wasn't always a bad thing. Not if it led to something. But Eliot, Eliot was being all talk and no action. 

At least, no fully delivered upon action.

Scrunching her eyes, she leaned against the counter and pursed her lips; she was tired of being toyed with. Making up her mind to take action herself, she realized she was going to have to show Eliot Spencer that there was more to life than foreplay.

(())

The team gathered together the following night for one more run through of their plan for Sunday's job. Things were winding down and Sophie's mind had, admittedly, checked out of the meeting fifteen or twenty minutes ago. She was thinking about seducing Eliot.

Plans and schemes were flitting through her brain so quickly that she didn't notice how close she was sitting next to Eliot. She didn't notice how her back was pressed against the crook of his arm, nor did she notice how his arm rested over her shoulder.

She was unaware of all of this.

But apparently, Nate wasn't.

“All right, I think everyone has their parts down. Parker I want you to double check that you have the blueprints memorized. I don't just want you to have one way out, I want you to have a total of three. You getting stuck in Christophe's building would not be a good thing.” He turned to Hardison, “Alec, the most recent building intel we have is from four years ago, try one more time to get something more recent for Parker and Eliot; changes in security, or hvac access, whatever.... Any extra information you can find on the building.” 

Briefly locking his eyes with Eliot's, Nate continued, “Eliot I think you're set.” He dragged his eyes to Sophie. “Sophie, I need to talk to you about one or two more points before you go.”

Straightening up, she bit back a groan. She didn't want to talk to Nate. About work. About anything. All she really wanted to do after the week she'd had was go home and climb all over Eliot. Sparing half a glance in the hitter's direction to see if he looked like he was thinking of anything even remotely similar to her thoughts, she found him looking at Nate. 

_Sigh. Wonderful, it looked like it would just be her and her hand tonight – again._

Plastering a smile on her face, she readied herself to acquiesce to whatever Nate wanted to talk to her about.... and then, to get her ass home.

Within a few minutes of Nate officially wrapping up the meeting everyone had left the office. Everyone but her of course. Picking up her empty wineglass, and the beer bottle that Eliot had left behind, she headed towards the kitchen. “What did you want to go over Nate?”

He followed her into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. 

As she threw away the beer bottle and walked to the sink, she glanced over at him. “What?”

He crossed his arms at his waist and peered at her. “What the fuck is going with you and Eliot?”

She nearly dropped the glass she was rinsing out. _Shit._

She tightened her grip on the glass and on her wits. “What the fuck is going on with you and Maggie?”

Her voice was controlled, her posture relaxed... but she could feel her pulse pounding through her veins. Hardison, Parker, she and Eliot had silently agreed to let Nate find out about her and Eliot on his own. And with how focused Nate could be about work, and his involvment with Maggie, Sophie had kind of hoped that he would just remain oblivious to the whole thing until she delivered a child.

But of course, that wasn't realistic. Nate might not be particularly observant of those around him, but he wasn't blind. He was bound to notice something was different, at some point. His 'noticing' didn't, however, mean that she was just going to give in and answer his impertinent questions. 

Neither he, nor she, were particularly big talkers. Not when it came to emotions or, God forbid, relationships. So they'd never had this talk. They hadn't discussed the rift that had grown between them; hadn't discussed the shift from 'possible' to 'impossible'. 

They hadn't discussed the re-introduction of Maggie. Nor, obviously, had they discussed the introduction of Eliot.

“We're not talking about me and Maggie, we're talking about what I just saw out there, in the living room. You and Eliot, cuddled up together.”

She quickly tried to recall what he was talking about; what he meant by 'cuddled up'. She and Eliot definitely hadn't been doing anything... untoward. 

_Had they?_

She flushed as she faintly recalled pulling herself from the curve of Eliot's arm a few minutes ago . Perhaps they hadn't been as well-behaved as she'd thought they had been. 

Going on the offensive she turned off the water, put down the goblet, and turned to face Nate. 

“Since you didn't see fit to tell me about the change of status between you and Maggie, do you really think that you have the right to ask me if there's been a change of status between Eliot and myself?”

“Maggie isn't a part of the team. If she and I become more – involved – it doesn't effect anyone except for her and me. Eliot is a part of the team, if … if there's something going on between the two of you, the rest of the team is effected.”

She snorted none to delicately, “Bullshit!”

“Excuse me?”

“Bullllll...shitttt.” She dragged the word out, before elucidating. “Doesn't effect anyone? Really?!” She leaned against the counter. “Let's forget the fact that... you and I have a history, shall we? And the fact that that means that any relationship you may start might effect me. Regardless of that little … issue, you must be aware that **every** member of this team is effected by which way the wind blows with you. If you're happy, and sober, and... and... well we all benefit from it. If you're pissed and three sheets to the wind... we all suffer for it.” All of her vim and vigor suddenly fled her, “...look, I'm happy for you, really, I am, but you do need to realize that you fully abdicated whatever right you had to monitor my personal life with the reintroduction of your relationship with Maggie.

He glommed on to the 'suggestion' of fact offered in her statement, “So Eliot's part of your personal life?”

She rolled her eyes and gave up the fight. “We're... dating.”

“Dating?”

“Dating.”

“Soooo, does this dating include sleeping with one another?”

She bristled. “Are you and Maggie sharing a bed?”

He had the grace to blush at his own inappropriate question being thrown back at him. Rubbing his hand along his five-o'clock shadowed jaw, he took a different direction to the discussion.

“You realize that Eliot doesn't do things halfway, right?”

The seeming change in focus of their discussion confused her and the confusion was reflected on her face. 

“Eliot can do one night stands and not become attached , but relationships? Real relationships? He invests himself in those wholeheartedly. He doesn't start, or stop them lightly.”

“Yes, well --”

“If you two don't make it? If you break up with him? We stand of chance of losing him from the team.”

“If 'I' break up with him!?!”

“You're not known for relationships, Sophie.”

“Says the man who dumped _my_ ass,” she mumbled lightly. She gave a faint smile at the grimace that crossed his face. Wrapping her arms around her waist she responded to his accusation. “It's more likely that he'd break up with me than the other way around.” She continued before Nate could respond, “besides, we're **just** dating. It's – it's nothing serious.” She pushed away from the counter and headed towards the door that Nate was blocking. Slipping past him she added, “we have fun. He – he makes me smile.” And he makes me hot. “He's quiet, but when he speaks, he's... funny, and – sweet.”

She could feel Nate's eyes on her back as she walked away. Stopping just outside of the kitchen she turned to face him. “Is this going to be a problem?” 

She wasn't positive if she wanted him to say 'yes' or if she wanted him to say 'no'. If he said 'yes', would it be because he was worried about the team or because he cared about her? If he said 'no', would it be because he didn't think it would affect the team, or because he didn't care about her? 

Nate looked at her for a few seconds longer than was comfortable, and then he answered her, “I don't know.”

_Well that answer... didn't help her at all._

(())

If she had felt confused and tired before speaking with Nate, after speaking with him she felt like Rose Nyland post a 5K marathon. 

It was in this state of mind that she found herself outside of Eliot's apartment door. She knocked sharply and then waited for him to answer; hoping he'd come straight home.

Within a few seconds she was rethinking her unconscious decision to seek Eliot out.

She wasn't there to try and seduce him, despite her earlier 'hornyness', right now, she just wanted someone to talk to. Someone who would listen to her while she reiterated the fact that she no longer wanted Nate. Someone who -

Eliot opened the door and after staring at her for three, maybe four, silent seconds, he opened his arms to her.

As she fell into his embrace, she reflected that, once again, Eliot seemed to know exactly what she needed before she did.


	5. Stopping The Ricochet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure this is 'M' rated, but I'm skewed, so I can't always tell.Might just be a hard 'R'

The only illumination in the room came from the television; its moving gray lights falling across the two figures that were sprawled on the couch.

Sophie was on her side, her back pressed against the back cushions of the couch, her head and arm pressed against Eliot's torso, her leg entwined with his.

Eliot, was on _his_ back, his left arm wrapped around Sophie’s frame, his hand resting on her hip.

They'd stopped talking a couple of hours ago; her somewhere between anger and tears, him somewhere between frustration and sympathy. 

And if he were honest with himself, Eliot would admit that frustration, now that Sophie had settled down, was the primary feeling he was experiencing. And he was frustrated in more ways than one.

He was frustrated with being 'this' close to Sophie, and not being inside of her. It was a frustration that had existed for years, but one that had intensified exponentially during the past month. The month in which he had known that he _could_ – hell, that he _would_ – have her; that his fantasy was going to be a reality. 

And yeah, he knew it was sort of his own fault that he wasn't already balls deep in her. He could have had her the day after The Queen and Knight Job – with her blessing – but of course, he had a different plan.

A plan that demanded he take things slowly.

A plan that fucking involved 'wooing'.

Basically, he'd figured that if he could make Sophie enjoy spending time with him, if he could make her see that he was more than two fists... more than a friend... maybe he'd stand a chance. A chance of making her want to be with him for longer than the time it took to impregnate her.

So yeah, for four and a half weeks he'd stuck to the plan, the 'make her want you' plan.

_Four and a half weeks!_

His balls were a shade of blue only Smurfs should be.

Of course, perpetual blue balls weren't his only source of frustration. He was also frustrated by Sophie's continued attachment to Nate. All the wooing in the world wouldn't accomplish a thing if his girl was still hung up on Nate Ford.

There were some days, some moments, when he was with her that he was almost positive he'd broken the grip Nate had on her. When he got her to laugh, for instance, that unguarded, uncontrolled laugh that bubbled up from deep in side of her? He was pretty certain she was thinking of and appreciating him when she laughed like that. And when he kissed her, caught her unawares and kissed her senseless, he was pretty damn sure she wasn't thinking about anyone, or anything, but him.

Yeah, he was pretty damn sure.

But then there were moments – times like tonight when she'd arrived at his door distraught and pissed at Nate, when he was less certain about his own standing with Sophie Devereaux.

His frustration with the Nate situation hadn't, however, stopped him from opening his arms to her. And fortunately for him, she hadn't cried much, shedding only a tear or two. 

No, instead of crying, Sophie had settled into his arms and groused about Nate being a 'git' and a 'hypocrite' and his 'calling the kettle black'.

For the most part, Eliot settled for just holding her and letting her talk, only pulling away from her long enough to close the door and lead her to the couch.

Yeah, he remained silent and let her rant, but all the while he wondered if she was angry at Nate for interfering in her life. Or if she was angry at Nate for his failure to declare that he'd changed his mind about their relationship.

And it was Sophie's final words regarding her chat with Nate that had Eliot tied up in knots the most. 

She'd lifted her head from his chest, and looked him in the eyes and declared, “And do you know, he had the nerve to suggest that you and I shouldn't date because 'if I dump you, you'll leave the team.'” She lowered her head back to his chest, her hand lightly playing at his waist. “As if that would ever happen... me dumping you!” She sighed and unconsciously snuggled closer. “The man is a bloody idiot!”

He wholeheartedly agreed about Nate being an idiot, but what kept ricocheting around in his head was the other part of her statement. _'As if that would ever happen... me dumping you!'_ Did Sophie, somewhere in the back of her head, think that if they started something, _**he'd**_ leave her? Honestly?!

(())

“Would you mind, terribly, if I stayed here tonight?” She asked the question with her head still pressed against his chest, her hand toying with the button on the breast pocket of his shirt.

“You can stay for as long as you want,” he said as he sat up, upsetting her from her comfortable perch. Standing, he held his hand out to her. “Wanna quick tour?”

She took his hand, stood up and followed him around the apartment...  
Bathroom,  
Kitchen - with a pantry housing tea and mugs,  
Workout room,  
Master bedroom – with en suite....

And then they were standing in the hall, just outside of Eliot's bedroom, and she was complimenting him on the décor: the paint colors, the flooring, the bedding, and she was babbling. 

And babbling is something that Sophie Devereaux didn't do. 

But Eliot was standing there, on the other side of the door frame, barely a foot away from her - looking at her - and suddenly, she was nervous. She wanted to stop her mouth from moving – honestly, she **needed** to make her mouth stop; she'd bloody-well asked him what thread count his sheets were! - but she couldn't seem to keep herself from spewing forth her interior design observations.

Fortunately for her, Eliot stepped in and helped her with her little rambling problem.

One minute he was leaning against the frame, the next, he was pressed against her, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her.

(())

He'd had no plans to make tonight 'the night'. And honestly, even as he leaned in to kiss her, he wondered if what he was doing was the right thing, at the right time; she had Nate peckin' at the back of her head more than ever. But as she unguardedly, nervously babbled, he found himself looking at her eyes. Looking at her lips. Watchin' her hands pass over her hips. Watchin' her play with the ends of her hair. And suddenly, he wanted her. Now.

And as soon as he began to kiss her, his questions of whether tonight was 'the night', disappeared. His questions of whether she was thinking too much, or too hard on Nate, left him.... If Nate _was_ ticking around in her head? He wouldn't be for damn long.

(())

She woke up with a smile on her face; her body loose limbed and sex heavy. Sighing, she basked in the memory of the previous night's activities. 

He was spooning her, his nose in her hair at the back of her head, one arm supporting her neck, the other wrapped loosely around her waist. Their legs were twisted together beneath a sheet, and she could feel his chest moving, quietly and steadily against her back.

She didn't want to wake him, she didn't want to face him just yet, but she did, slowly, carefully, lift her left hand from the mattress, and place it atop his. 

She took a few seconds to appreciate the callouses and the tanness of his hand in comparison to her own pale, pampered skin. It was amazing how giving – how absolutely gentle – his hands could be.

Even when he had demanded pleasure/pain of her body last night, his hands on her skin were gentle; he'd handled her as if she were made of... of... something amazing. Something he didn't want to break, or damage.

She let her fingers rub restlessly over the back of his hand.

Eliot had managed to tread that fine line between treating her like glass, and treating her like a woman. A woman he found desirable. A woman he was hot for. That fine line was evidenced by the fact that her favorite silk Ralph Lauren top lay in tatters on the floor along side her now zipperless BCBGMaxazria skirt. She'd miss both pieces of clothing, but their sacrifice was well worth it.

She finally gave in to the urge she had to stretch, and she elongated her frame as carefully as she could. But apparently, she wasn't careful enough. As she gave a small mew of sensation - her muscles protesting/thanking her for shifting - she heard Eliot snuffle, then burrow further against her. His nose nuzzling against her neck. And then she could feel a puff of his breath against her shoulder as _he_ stretched against _her_. 

He gathered her closer, tugging her towards him and she almost giggled when she realized that Eliot Spencer was a snuggler.

She **almost** giggled, but not quite. She stopped short of giggling when she felt Eliot's hand slip from her ribs, down to her navel, over the slight swell of her stomach and then... lower yet. She gave another mew – this one of pure pleasure – when Eliot offered a sleep laden, “Good Mornin'” and his fingers began a quest between her legs.

And damn if she didn't respond immediately, her thigh lifting to rest atop his thigh, granting his fingers further access. She managed a breathy: “Morning.”

As his fingers delved, he pressed his lips to her ear, kissing and nibbling. And within seconds, she could feel his length, pressed against her bum, hardening... the advantage, she was finding, of being with a young, wildly in shape man; recovery time was shortened, and the stamina was damn impressive. 

Hell, everything about Eliot was impressive. From his stamina, to his focus [he was a damn single minded man, and apparently, getting her off – multiple times - was his latest and greatest goal], to his, uhm... equipment. Yes, everything about the man was impressive. 

His fingers, slick with her arousal, left her core and she felt him shift his hips, and then she felt his fingers move along her center, until he was gripping his length and aligning himself with her. She hissed lightly as the head of his cock entered her. Despite his having prepared her with his fingers beforehand, his size, and the activities of the night before, meant her body was sore. 

He paused at her slightly pained moan, his fingers now back at her clit, “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. I'm...fine...”, she moved her hips, urging him deeper, “don't stop.”

“You sure?” 

She shivered as his fingers began to tease her clit and his tongue and lips passed over the tendon on the side of her neck. “Eliot Spencer if you don't start moving aga ---” her vocal chords faded to a gasp as he did exactly what she wanted him to do.

He set a slow, 'good morning' pace; using long, smooth strokes that buried him deep within her, then left just his thick tip inside of her. 

Her right hand clutched and released and clutched at the bed coverings while her left hand joined Eliot's between her legs. For a few moments they shared the task of playing with her clit, his fingers rubbing parallel alongside the nub, while her fingers teased and circled along the top of it. Eventually he dragged his hand away from her center and pressed it against her belly, applying pressure and forcing her hips to stay still as he increased the pace of his strokes. 

She'd never considered herself to be particularly vocal when it came to sex. A few appropriate moans, the occasional whimper, maybe a low intoned whisper; but with Eliot everything was different. His breath along her skin made her want to beg for more. His hand trailing down her back made her want to cum. From a touch! So when he was inside of her – every nerve ending in her body was alight with sensation – she was vocal. She was damn vocal; using a somewhat limited vocabulary that consisted of 'Oh God', 'Eliot', and a few choice words that made her blush just to think them. 

She didn’t actually understand it; the reaction she was having to Eliot. She was a grown woman; an experienced, grown woman. This wasn't the first time she'd had sex. It wasn't even the first time she'd had good sex. It _was_ , however, the first time she'd had mind-blowing, unadulterated, melt-your-bones sex. But still, she was going to have to control her reactions to him. Later. Yes, she was going to definitely have to work on that... later.

His lips journeyed along her jaw until he reached her lips and, as he rocked in and out of her, he swallowed her yells with a kiss. A kiss that didn't end until he felt her insides clinching around his cock; fluttering, tightening, gripping at his cock. When her walls finally stopped their avaricious grasping at him, his hips snapped three, four, five more times against her bottom before he jarred to a stop with a grunt, and he finally released himself inside of her once again.

They were both breathing heavily as Eliot moved his hand up her torso, over her breasts, and along her neck, before he lifted a few thick strands of her hair away from the side of her face and kissed her cheek.

His eyes closed, and his voice hoarse, he offered another, satiated, “Mornin' darlin'.”

She lifted her hand to his arm, appreciating even that aspect his manliness. And offering him a smile he couldn't see, she responded with a relaxed/happy, "Good morning.

Oh she knew that at some point, some point in the near future, when she was by herself and not surrounded by his warmth - by the scent of his cologne and the touch of his skin – she'd realize exactly what kind of deep shit she was in, but for now... for the moment, she only wanted to focus on how good she felt. On how good Eliot made her feel.


	6. Agreements

The two of them hadn't been alone together in a month. Both through conscious and unconscious machinations of their teammates. 

He supposed that all of them – the team - revolved around each other so much – had become so close – that these little changes... or bigger changes as the case may be... made them fearful of the repercussions. The repercussions of change.

So, yeah, the two of them had more ore less been isolated, or with another member of the team since Nate found out about Sophie and Eliot.

Until tonight.

Somehow those conscious/unconscious machinations that had been working so well for the team during the past month had gotten crossed up.

It was, of course, bound to happen. There was no way that Eliot and Nate could be kept separate forever... but, Eliot gave a small smirk, the effort sure had been put in to see if it could happen. 

The girls – and Hardison – were currently working their part of a Job, while he and Nate silently sat in a hotel room, coms on, listening to their progress... waiting for any sign that the muscle, or the brains, might be needed.

They'd been in the room for thirty minutes, silent except for the chatter of Hardison, Sophie, and Parker that was coming in over their earbuds. 

Eliot was starting to think that he and Nate might spend the next two hours, or however long this Job was going to take, in silence.

He thought that until, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nate take his com out of his ear. 

Without a word, Eliot followed suit. All of them -the whole team - always followed Nate's lead; whether they wanted to... whether they agreed with what he had to say... he was their leader, they were his soldiers. 

Unfortunately for 'General' Nate, his First Lieutenant, Eliot had – arguably - betrayed him.

Nate flipped the speakers on on the laptop so that the cackle of the others could be faintly heard in the hotel room. He kept the mics on mute.

The two of them sat in the room, one of them at the small desk, the other in the armchair, and they listened with half an ear to the con falling into place.

The 'other ear' was bent towards the actions and stance and existence of the other person in the room.

Eliot was a patient man. As evidenced by the stakeouts he'd done for years; as further evidenced by his quiet, mule headed pursuit of Sophie.

But patience was eluding him now... he flinched first.

“I care about her.”

He could hear Nate blow out a puff of air. Then there was more 'silence'. Two men sitting in a room with the static of a con coming in faintly over speakers....

Staring at the walls. Refusing to look at one another. 

Because of a woman.

An amazing woman.

Eliot took a deep breath and lifted his head to speak again, but this time Nate beat him to it.

“It's kind of hard NOT to care about her, isn't it?”

“Damn hard.”

Nate looked at Eliot, “But you know, she's not like other women. Her history, what makes her tick, … she's not **easy** to care about. Not long term.”

“I've found her pretty easy to like in the past four years.” Eliot alluded to the time that they'd all been a team. “And you've known her for longer, been interested in her for longer.”

Nate opened the bottled water that sat before him. “Pretty much any version of Sophie is attractive. But you have to remember, she's a chameleon. It's not just her job, it's who she is. What she's made up of.” He shrugged his shoulders, “You never know if you're attracted to the real Sophie, or some facade she's presenting. And you'll never know what's really motivating her.”

Eliot tried to read Nate's face as he spoke, was he speaking as a thwarted boyfriend? Or as a friend watching out for a friend? Or...? Normally reading Nate was easy for Eliot. The man had his tells. Tells that Eliot had grown to recognize, but this time, regarding Sophie, Eliot was having a tough time reading the man. 

“Is that why you didn't,” Eliot paused. They were two men, and they were talking about emotions and relationships and... Sophie. He hated these kinds of fucking conversations. But he needed to know the answer. “Why aren't the two of you together?”

Nate blew out a puff of air and shrugged, “Maggie. Facades. Time. Sophie. Me. I could keep going.”

Eliot gave a small smile, “Just one reason woulda worked.” He straightened his spine, and locked eyes with Nate. “If you change your mind... if you're changing your mind... about wanting her? I'm not going to give her up without a fight.”

The fact that Eliot didn't lose fights – went unsaid.

Nate nodded his head and offered a simple: “Understood.” While Nate flipped the speakers off and put his com back in his ear, Eliot made mental note that Nate hadn't actually said he hadn't, or wouldn't, change his mind about wanting Sophie.

(())

“Sooooooo....” she was seated on the island behind him nibbling at the sliced carrots and cucumbers that he'd set aside for their dinner salads.

Without looking back, he responded, “'So', stop eating the salad fixin's.” He lifted the spoon and tested the sauce he was making for their pasta.

She popped another cube of cucumber in her mouth in defiance (and in hunger) and crossed her legs as she leaned back on the counter. “ **Sooooo** , earlier today. You and Nate? You two talked? And didn't kill each other?”

He grinned, his back still to her. “What would Nate and I have to talk about?”

“Oh don't be an ass.”

He chuckled and turning around he wiped his hands on the apron that was tied around his waist. He took the four steps necessary to place him directly in front of Sophie and placing his hands on either side of her, he leaned forward and kissed her.

He tasted of tomato, and oregano, and pepper, and his lips were soft yet firm against hers and she leaned forward, into the kiss, her arms moving up over his shoulders. 

When his lips left hers and moved to her jaw, trailing down along her neck, she tried to recall what she'd been saying before Eliot started to distract her. Moving her hands to his chest, she rather ineffectually pushed at him. “Eliot.”

He ignored her and shifted his stance, placing his hands at her hips while he focused his attention to that little spot at the side of her throat where her neck met her shoulder; his teeth and tongue and lips teasing the soft, yielding skin.

“Eliooot.” This time her voice was more of a response than a demand. And she had to make herself take a new tack. “Our dinner is going to burn.” She said these words even as she parted her legs and hooked her heel around Eliot's thigh, pulling him closer. 

“Fuck dinner,” he mumbled against her throat. “I'll make more.”

She pushed a little harder against his chest, her appreciation of the feel of him warring with her desire for answers. She tried one more time. “Eliot, you and Nate?”

He sighed, the warmth of his breath ghosting along her skin. He pulled her closer, his fingers curving in the flesh of her bottom, his hips pressed against her center. “We talked.”

“Mmmm, and?” Her hands slid back up along his chest and over his shoulders. 

“And... we've come to an understanding.”

She pulled her head back and placed a hand on Eliot's chin, pulling his gaze from her neck to meet her own eyes. “An understanding that didn't involve fists?”

“No fists.” His eyes were on her lips and she (not unhappily) resigned herself to the fact that sex was on tap, and that 'no fists' and 'an understanding' were the extent of what Eliot was going to share with her in regards to his discussion with Nate. She resigned herself to this fact until, suddenly Eliot squinted his eyes and wrinkled his nose.

Leaning forward he pecked her on the lips before moving away with a quick: “the sauce.”

She gave a light snort of frustration, “yes, of course, the sauce. Why didn't I think of that?”

(())

About two weeks after they started having sex, Sophie made an attempt to slow things down with Eliot. To gain some more control over the situation.

Her attempts to dampen his... amorous focus... to place some distance between the two of them (as much distance as two people who were trying to conceive a baby **could** have between them) were thwarted. Actually they were more than thwarted; they completely and utterly backfired on her.

Discussion 1:

“We have separate lives, we're both busy, me with the theatre and call backs (okay, so she wasn't really getting that many callbacks, but...), and you with your... your...” she'd waved her hands in his general direction, “workouts, and punching bangs, and... and things.” He'd crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow, but she had pushed on. “We don't have time to do this as often as we've been doing it, we should just... plan these events more realistically.”

“So let's move in together.”

 _What_! “Bloody what!!!?”

And then he'd used his body – and closeness – to muddle her mind. Moving just a little bit closer to her, he'd pressed his argument. “We have four months, give or take a week, to try and make this thing work. The old fashioned way.” He grinned and moved, somehow, even closer to her, placing one if his hands at her back, the other at her belly. “I'd like to be around while you're pregnant. Watch the baby's growth.” His grin increased, “Give some foot massages. And then, after the baby's born, we've already discussed my wantin' to be involved in her life. So we spend a few months, maybe a year with us being in the same space. Takin' care of the baby together.” His hand slipped down over the curve of her ass. “You can continue your callbacks, and the theater stuff. And I” he mimicked her, “can continue with my 'workouts and punching bags and things'. It makes sense.”

Honestly, when he was that close and touching her, he could tell her that walking down the street naked made sense and she'd believe him. 

She grasped at the slender strings of her sanity and took the easy way out, responding, “I – we – I need to think about this a little bit.” She forced herself to back away and turning from him, she crossed her arms over her chest and she moved on to a discussion about their upcoming job.

A few days later -

Discussion 2:

“Now Eliot, just... you stay right there.” She was standing behind the couch and Eliot was standing in front of it - with a look in his eye. A look she'd come to recognize. 

He repainted his face, faux-innocence covering his visage for just a second. And then he smirked, undoing the innocence. “What?”

“You know what. We need to talk, I've been trying to talk to you for the past few days, and you just keep... keep...”. He smirked again, and she narrowed her eyes.

He dropped the smirk.

“You keep 'distracting' me.”

“We're calling it 'distraction' now?”

“Never mind what we're calling it, you, you just... keep your hands and your lips and your other body parts on that side of the sofa!” 

Eliot paused then nodded his head in acquiescence. He settled into the armchair closest to her. Propping his feet up on the coffee table he prompted, “Is this regarding us living together?”

“No! No. I... I still need to think about that a bit more.” She started to pace. “This is about... well... ovulation.” There, she'd said it. She pushed on. “You of course realize that conception happens when a woman is ovulating. And we... we have been,” she gave a small smile and made brief eye contact with Eliot, “'distracting' one another rather regularly for the past couple of weeks, and realistically, we don't need to... do what we've been doing, outside of those times. I mean, outside of ovulation time.” She stopped pacing. “So there, there you have it.”

Eliot was silent for a few seconds. Long enough for her to worry that he hadn't understood what she was saying, what she was trying to do. She opened her mouth to start over, but he beat her to it, responding in the manner she was least expecting.

“Are you trying to back out of our deal?”

“Hmm? What!?”

“You agreed to give me six months of us trying to get you pregnant _my way_ before we try things your way.”

“Well yes, I'm not saying that we shouldn't have sex --”

“No, but you're takin' away my ability to do my part to the best of my ability.”

“How --”

“Women obviously conceive when they're ovulatin', but men, well, we have stronger and better swimmers if we're havin' sex on the regular. So if you're sayin' you want to cut back on things... argument could be made that you're trying to pack the deal in your favor.”

Sophie peered at Eliot. She was almost positive he was playing her. Trying to keep her at his sexual beck and call. Yes, she was almost positive he was playing her. Almost. 

Eliot didn't even blink as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his smart phone. “Look it up if you don't believe me.”

She snorted, “right, as if I believe anything I see on the internet these days.” She walked around the couch and curled up on a corner of it. “You do realize that I work with Hardison too; I've seen what he can do, and just how easily.” A sudden horrified look crossed her face, “Tell me you didn't have   
Hardison create fake web pages on male motility for me to look at!”

An equally horrified look painted Eliot's face, “Christ! Hell no! I wouldn't..., I mean, what the hell kind of drinkin' would I have to do to ever, EVER have a motility/sperm conversation with Alec!? Believe me, that conversation, never happened. Never gonna happen!”

She gave a small smile at his vehemence before frowning again. “So basically, you're saying that we have to... to... keep doing what we’ve been doing, in order to improve our chances to conceive?”

He dared to reach over to the couch and secure her hand in his, “Mother Nature can be a bitch darlin'.” His thumb passed over her palm slowly and he kept his eyes trained on their hands.

It only took a few seconds, but she did give in. It had been a long week. And she wanted a child. Sacrifices would have to be made. She ignored the little voice in the back of her head that taunted, _Well, that wasn't really much of a fight that you put up there now was it?_

She huffed lightly and offered him a grudging: “Fine.” 

Her huff was followed by a squeal when Eliot tugged her from her seat and onto his lap. “Well, now that we have that settled,” his arms wrapped around her, “let's get back to business.”


	7. Bubbles

"Try choppin' them a lil' smaller."

She grimaced and responded, "If I cut them any smaller, I'll cut the tips of my fingers off. Really Eliot, what does it matter how big or small I cut them?!"

He stepped up behind her and, reaching around her, he stilled her hands with his own. "Okay, here... just loosen up your hold on the knife... you're not tryin' to kill the celery and carrots... an' just keep your grip relaxed." He shifted his head to her other shoulder. "And with this hand, curve your fingers; you can still control the vegetables, but you'll keep your pretty lil fingertips safe. Like this." He put both of her hands back in place and with his hands on her wrists he started her chopping again.

Sophie mumbled a few soft curses beneath her breath, but did as directed.

"Better... much better." His hands left hers, but he stayed behind her, his arms settling around her waist.

"I still don't see what difference size makes," she grumbled as she reached for another stalk of celery.

"Really?" He teasingly intoned at her neck.

She gave a small throaty laugh, "Well, for some things I understand the importance of size, but for celery? Carrots? Potatoes? I'm not following."

"Smaller pieces cook faster. And the key to this lentil soup is to have a textured base – well seasoned... thick - and the chunks of chicken."

Sophie stopped chopping, put down the knife and turned around in Eliot's arms. "You know, we could solve this whole 'textured base... chopping vegetables' issue if YOU would just do the cooking." She slid her arms around his waist, "having me cooking? It's like having a child finger-paint the Sistine chapel while Michaelangelo sits off to the side and directs."

He pulled her closer. "Did you just compare me to Micahelangelo?"

She smirked, "Yes, well, keep in mind, I also just compared myself to a finger-painting child; so you might not want to let my words go to your head."

He leaned forward and kissed her, a small peck on her lips, followed by a second longer kiss. "Keep chopping. I'll season the chicken... and after dinner... you can pretend to be the Sistine Chapel... and I'll pretend to be Michaelangelo."

(())

She'd moved in.

Without fanfare.

An overnight bag filled with 5 days of clothes versus the standard one day of clothing. A carry-all bag here. A carry-all bag there. She'd carved out a spot in his closet. A spot that over the weeks had become more than a corner.

She hadn't announced she was moving in. Hadn't alluded to his offer/suggestion that they share a space for ease of conception. No... she'd remained resolutely 'mum' on the topic of her casual, gradual, move.

And so, within three weeks, all of her clothes – save an evening gown or two – and all of her toiletries were residing in Eliot's apartment. She was still working on a plan to get her art work over into his place, but that would take more planning... how do you casually place a Merello or a Singh in the home of a man who only has a television – a television he only watches for news and sporting events - mounted on his walls. New artwork would definitely be noticed. So while it was a pity to own the pieces and not be able to look at them, she could at least visit the art in her old apartment; the apartment she was keeping the lease to.

Yes, she'd given in to Eliot's suggestion of moving in with him., but she wasn't hanging her whole future on that move. She was keeping her apartment as a retreat; as a back up plan. With the knowledge that the move to Eliot's place was temporary – for a year or two at most. Paying the rent on her old apartment every month would just be another reminder for her that what she had with Eliot was temporary. A fantasy.

A lovely fantasy, but a fantasy none the less.

And spending time with Eliot WAS lovely. He gave her her freedom, but at the same time, he left her with no doubt that he was... aware of her. It was almost eery the sixth sense he seemed to have regarding her. If she was stressed, he wordlessly gave her wine... and/or a foot massage. If she was scared he'd sit next to her, hand on her thigh, or arm around her shoulder. And the thing was... she didn't have to say a word. She didn't have to say she was stressed, she didn't have to say she was scared... Eliot... Eliot just seemed to know. If she let herself consider his propensity for knowing what she was thinking/feeling... she'd be freaked out by it. But she **didn't** let herself think about it. She didn't want to be reminded of just how improbable and impossible their situation was. And honestly, right now, she was happy being in the little bubble they'd created. The bubble where he went to the Opera and Theatre with her... for her. The bubble where whatever she needed, Eliot was there and trying to provide it for her.

She wasn't selfish. Not truly. She wanted others to be happy. And she'd work diligently to make those she cared about happy. And she cared about Eliot. So she did little things for him too. For instance, she was allowing him to teach her to cook (something that he had much more faith in her skills for than she did). And she was doing things like watching football – American football – with him.

Her.

Sophie Devereaux.

American football.

See, she was making sacrifices for Eliot!

But she did have lines, and she was afraid of bursting their little bubble by crossing those lines. That bubble and those lines were one of the reasons she was so stealthy about her acquiescence to his request that she move in with him. The gradual move was made with no muss/no fuss. No discussion or announcement. Which gave her plausible dependability if the topic ever did come up. And meant that they didn't have to 'talk' about why she was moving in, or how much she enjoyed spending time with him, or... well... they didn't have to discuss the ramifications of her adding her world to his. Or him adding his world to hers.

So yes, she'd been subtle about **the move**. Or so she thought.

Right up until a few minutes ago when Eliot began the following conversation with her:

"A three bedroom just opened on the second floor. I was thinking that you and I could make an appointment to see it, and if we like it, we could move our things down there."

_What?!_

"I haven't agreed to move in with you." She looked down at the magazine in her hand... focusing on it as if it was the most important thing in the world. And as if she **hadn't** moved all of her easily portable belongings into his apartment.

Eliot headed into the kitchen, throwing over his shoulder, "Oh please, you've already moved in."

It was one thing for her to have moved. It was one thing for her to know this. It was even one thing for him to have realized this. But it was quite another thing for him to say the words out loud.

She stood up and followed him into the kitchen. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Eliot turned around to face her as he popped the top on his beer, a bottled water – for her – in his other hand. "Oh c'mon Soph, all your crap -" He watched her bristle and chose another word, "All of your 'belongings' are here. And all of our downtime is spent here – together – you've moved in."

She looked him directly in the eyes. "Just because I have a few items here – for convenience sake - doesn't mean we're… roommates."

_And that_ , he thought as he looked at her, _was why she was good at grifting_. He KNEW she'd moved in. She had over half his closet, she'd taken over three out of the five drawers in his dresser. Her makeup crap was all over the bathroom cabinets/counter... she'd moved in. And he was okay with their not making a big deal of it. Who needed the hype that their teammates would make if they announced she was/had moved in?

And if **she** wanted to avoid the official I'm moving in talk... he was fine with that – the important part was that she'd moved. Without fanfare was fine. But to deny it when she was called on it? And to deny it straight-faced...? Yeah, his girl was a damn good grifter. Too bad she'd forgotten who she was trying to play. "Riggghhhhhtttt." He mocked lightly as he handed her the bottled water.

"No, you ass, you don't get to say 'right' that way. I haven't moved in."

He headed back into the living room, repeating his new mantra: " Riggghhhhhtttt."

Sophie always hated being caught in the middle of a manipulation, but she particularly hated being caught in the middle of a manipulation by Eliot. _Know-it-all!_

Two minutes later, she was on the floor on her back with Eliot on top of her – laughing at her. She wiggled and hissed as she tried to get free, but he held her arms in place, her wrists captured in one of his hands above her head. She stopped struggling and releasing a puff of air, she blew stray strands of hair away from her face. "Eliot, let me go."

Her voice was calm but her eyes gave her away. Eliot bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to stop himself from laughing at her. "Are you going to stop swingin' at me if I let you go?"

"Are you going to take back what you said?"

He lifted his free hand to her face, pushing away the strands of hair that were still clinging to her cheek. "What? That you've moved in?"

She wiggled with frustration beneath him.

"Yeah, sorry, can't do that Soph... cuz you have. You've moved in with me. We're living together."

She gave in but not very graciously. "Temporarily." She looks him in the eyes and repeats, "I've moved in temporarily."

He reads the conviction in eyes; her voice.

… she sees something pass over Eliot's face in response to her declaration, but it flits past too quickly for her read it. And within seconds, he's off of her, his hand free of her wrists, his body separated from hers.

She closes her eyes as she acclimates her self to the change in temperature that occurs when he's gone. His weight removed from her frame. (She chases away the thought that dances through her brain... the thought that she was happier with his weight on her, with his warmth around her).

She blinks her eyes open and sees that he's offering to help her up, eyes shuttered, hand extended.

And as always she accepts his offer.

But as she does so, she wonders if perhaps their roles haven't been reversed. Perhaps he's the true grifter – always getting her to do what he wants; regardless of whether it's something she wants to do or not. Always making her take what she **needs** to take, feel what she **needs** to feel even when it's the last thing she wants.

And she wonders if, of the two of them, perhaps she isn't the true hitter/killer. (With a word, with a look, slicing off a bit of flesh). Eliot's eyes hadn't been shuttered and her insides hadn't ached quite so much a few seconds ago – before she opened her mouth.

(())

Day 153

It hit him like a brass knuckle in the gut. He actually nearly doubled over when he made the realization. And then, he started to grin.

Started to smile.

After that, the stoic, zen-like Eliot Spencer couldn't stop himself from smiling.

(())

When Sophie came 'home' that night, she kicked off her heels, placed her purse on one of the armchairs, and then dropped on to the couch. She was absolutely beat, her research for their upcoming con was exhausting. Physically and mentally. Curling on to her side, she closed her eyes.

"Tired?"

She groaned at the sound of Eliot's voice – disturbing her attempts at a nap.

"They say the first trimester is the worst."

"Mmm hmmm." She agreed with him.

And then she played back what he'd said in her head. Propping one eye open she peered at his frame as he sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. "Uhm, try that again?"

"First trimester - I've been doing some reading today. The first trimester tends to be the one that sucks the energy out of you."

She slowly sat up. _What the hell is he talking about?_. "Did someone hit you in the head recently?"

Eliot reached behind him and dragged a small box out; a box that he handed to Sophie.

**EPT.** "A pregnancy test? You're -"

"You're late."

She flushed just slightly at the fact that he was aware of her cycle, but she realized, of course, that embarrassment over this fact was a bit late in coming. Eliot had seen her in ways that left little if anything to the imagination; his knowing when she menstruated, especially when they were actively trying to get pregnant was to be expected. "I'm not -." She paused and tried to remember what today's date was... and then she tried to specifically recall when she'd last had her period. "Shit."

"You've been really tired for the past couple of weeks, your back's been hurting you, you've had headaches, you've been moody as all get out," he paused, "and, you're late."

She lifted her eyes from the box – held gingerly in her hands – and looked at Eliot. "Shit." _Denial thy name is Sophie._ "We've all been under a lot of stress, the Amber Job, this new one we're prepping for Tuesday." She blinked, "my moving."

Eliot stood up, unable to contain his energy – or his grin – any longer. He placed his hand on her wrist and gently tugged until she was standing. "And we've been sexin' like rabbits, and you're off the pill, and... you're late." Pulling her behind him, he led her down the passageway to their bedroom. Stopping midway down the hall, he looked back at her, "do you need a bottle of water or somethin'?"

She took a deep breath and shook her head negatively.

Eliot nodded and facing forward, he continued to lead Sophie down the hall until they reached the en suite. "I'll wait out here," he jerked his head towards the bed. "Just... let me know if you need me or...".

She spared a smile in his direction. "I think I may be able to manage this part on my own."

"As soon as you're done … ?"

"I'll let you know, and we can wait the," she glanced at the box instructions, "five minutes... together." She disappeared into the bathroom.

Reemerging four minutes later, she sat down next to Eliot on the edge of the mattress, and then the two of them, Eliot Spencer and Sophie Devereaux, silently waited out the longest five minutes of their lives.


	8. Fine, Okay

Going to the ObGyn with Eliot was confusing.

'Were they' or 'weren't they' was the overwhelming question.

Were they pregnant or weren't they?

Were they a couple or weren't they?

The EPT test had made them pretty certain the answer to the first question was 'yes'.

And if the ObGyn agreed with the EPT test, and they were indeed pregnant...

Where did that leave _them_?

She was scared as she walked back to room 5... Eliot trailing behind her, his hands clinched in fists that had nothing to do with anger, and everything to do with fear.

She was scared as she listened to the doctor talking about the test. Eliot sat beside her, his leg bouncing with energy and nervousness.

She was scared when the doctor left the room to print out the test results... while she sat in her chair, nervously swinging her foot back and forth. Eliot placed his hand on her thigh... and her fear seeped away.

As they left the doctor's office neither one of them could stop smiling. They looked at the people in the waiting room and smiled. They looked at the receptionist and smiled. They looked at the security officer and smiled. They looked at one another and they smiled.

He drove them home five miles below the speed limit. He kept his hand at her back as they headed up the walkway toward the apartment building. He made her tea, propped her feet up on the couch and then he settled in behind her and he placed his hand on her belly.

And at least for that day, for that night: _they were_.

(())

Sophie hadn't been in her own apartment in at least four weeks, and as she opened one of the living room windows, she sneezed; staleness and dust filling her lungs. She watched a few dust motes sparkle through the air before she moved to the stereo and flipped it on. She headed towards the kitchen as the first few notes of an Anita O'Day standard floated out of the speakers.

She had twenty minutes before Parker was due to arrive for a 'girl's lunch'.

Parker's idea, not hers.

_"You and Eliot spend all of your time together at work... and then the two of you disappear off into the sunset together at the end of the day, and... and I never get to see you. It's like you don't care anymore."_

_"Parker, just because Eliot and I are... closer, doesn't mean I... we... no longer care."_

_"Yeah well, it feels like you don't care." Her pout was pronounced._

_"What can I do to help you? To prove we still care about you?"_

_"Let's have a girls' day. You know, do stuff that girls do!"_

_Sophie questioned, "We've never had a girls day before. I mean, we've been friends for a number of years, and we've never..." At the deepening of Parker's pout, Sophie sighed and gave in, "What exactly did you have in mind?"_

_"Toenails and videos and food and and gossip!" Parker was chirping again._

Sophie had somewhat reluctantly agreed to Parker's suggestion, and the two women had planned a gathering - today's gathering - at Sophie's apartment.

She had just pulled out the stack of menus that she kept in the kitchen drawer, when she heard Parker call out from the living room. 'I brought the movies!"

She sighed, Parker hadn't been in the living room a few minutes ago, and she clearly hadn't buzzed in downstairs, or knocked at her door to gain entry. Padding barefoot into the living room, she saw Parker stepping out of her harness having, yes, used the window to gain entry into her apartment.

"Hello Parker."

Parker dropped the harness next to a pile of rope on the floor in front of the window. "Hiya." She grinned her infectious grin. Pointing to a small stack of dvds on the edge of the couch, she repeated, "I brought movies!"

Sophie couldn't stop herself from smiling back. "And I have menus."

Parker squealed and plopped down on the couch. "Yeah!"

Sophie watched as Parker's happy face became Parker's confused face. "Hey, by the way, I was wondering, why are we meeting here? Instead of at your place?" She stopped and her brow furrowed, "'Your other place. Eliot's place?"

"My other place?" Sophie repeated dumbly as she settled on to the couch next to her. _Parker knew she was living with Eliot?_

"Yeah." Parker frowned, "Does Eliot not want me there?"

"What?!"

Parker's lips turned down even more. "Is that why we're not doing this there? Eliot doesn't like me anymore?"

Sophie stared at Parker – the woman-child – and realized she would have to admit to what Parker already knew. "No, that's not it Parker. Eliot adores you. He'd do anything for you. He – I – We thought we were keeping our living together quiet. I – I wasn't aware that you knew we were –." She dropped the menus on the coffee table and reached for the younger woman. Placing her hand on Parker's shoulder she promised, "If we ever have another girl's day, we can have it at Eliot's – my and Eliot's place."

Parker let a smile light her face. "Really?"

Sophie nodded.

"Cool! Eliot's TV is bigger than this one."

Sophie smiled and as Parker drew her legs up onto the sofa, she pulled herself up from the couch, "Drink?"

"Uh huh."

She was half way back to the kitchen when Parker threw her for her next loop, "So how is sex with Eliot?"

Sophie nearly tripped over her own feet, "Parker!" She turned back towards the sofa.

"What?! I want to know." Parker looked at her questioningly, "And, well, I've never had a girlfriend before, I thought girlfriends talked about boys and stuff. 'Stuff' being 'sex'."

"Well, they do, but normally, they don't just... uhm, Sweetie, you don't just start a conversation with someone – anyone – by asking them about their sex life."

"Not even a girlfriend?"

"Not even a girlfriend."

"Why not? Girlfriends talk about sex, why can't we _start_ conversations off with sex life talk?"

"It's not polite."

Parker snorted.

"And it's disconcerting."

She snorted again.

Sophie took another tack and moving back to sit next to Parker, she got comfortable, curling her feet to her side and crossing her arms under her chest. And then she asked a question she was pretty certain she didn't want to know the answer to. "So how's sex with Hardison?"

Parker spluttered on air, "I can't tell you that! I - Alec and I... well, that's..." Parker's eyes narrowed as she realized she was in a catch-22. She flushed before volunteering, "So Alec and I are... hanging out, and you and Eliot are 'hanging out'," she air quoted the words. "I enjoy 'hanging out' with Alec. Do you enjoy 'hanging out' with Eliot?"

Sophie fought her own flush, but she couldn't contain the smile that came to her lips. Looking down and picking at an invisible piece of lint on the couch cushion she responded, "I rather love hanging out with Eliot."

"Ooooooh!" Parker curled up even more tightly in the chair.

– – – – –

Two hours later, they were laughing as movie credits rolled across the screen; and honestly, the laughter had more to do with the chatter they'd been sharing than it did with the film.

Parker twirled her chopsticks between her fingers and solemnly declared, "We should definitely do this more often." She straightened up, "Ohhh, and we should bring the boys next time. They like each other! We could all hang out together." She paused and flushed, "in the platonic definition of 'hanging out'." She paused and tilted her head to the side, "although, the idea of Alec and Eliot – together?" A small grin crept across her face, "that picture's not exactly hard to swallow." She blinked a few times and let her eyes scan Sophie's figure and face. "And you're not hard on the eyes." She did another quick appraisal. "I would definitely do you."

Sophie opened her mouth to give some sort of response – what kind, she wasn't exactly sure – but before she could actually speak, Parker continued on like the tiny freight train that she was.

Her face scrunched up, "Actually, the only combo I can't imagine would be a reverse mixed-doubles: me and Eliot, you and Alec." She shivered lightly. "I mean, you and Alec have the chemistry of two wet fish." She elucidated, "which means: none at all. And Eliot? Eliot and me? He's like a brother!" she shuddered again, "I'm not his Cersei and he's definitely not my Jaime." She shook her head, "Yeah, so platonic 'hanging out' all the way; no foursomes... Unless we set some boundaries first."

Sophie opened her mouth. Shut it. Then opened it again, "Let's just, mmm, stick with the two of us... having lunches... and movies... for a while, shall we?"

Parker shrugged and nodded her head in happy agreement.

(())

It was after one a.m. before she finally climbed into bed next to Eliot.

He was lying on his back, and she settled onto her side, curving her head along his arm. They hadn't seen one another for most of the day. She'd had her acting class, an audition, lunch and a movie with Parker, and then she'd finished off the evening at an art symposium.

But now she was home. And she was tired. Bone tired.

She sighed. The bed felt wonderful. And she was almost positive that a big part of what made the bed feel so great was the fact that Eliot was in it; sharing it with her.

This realization scared the hell out of her. That his presence 'soothed her', that his warmth was something her body was starting to crave...? Yeah, it scared the living hell out of her.

She shivered lightly and moved a little bit closer to him.

Eliot's hand curved around her arm and he rubbed her bicep a few times. "Cold?"

She nodded her head in silent agreement, not wanting to admit that – perhaps – her shiver had been induced more by him, than the temperature of the room.

He made to get up, "I'll close the window," but she applied pressure to his chest with her hand, forcing him to settle back onto the bed, and then she snuggled back in to him.

"Don't, I'm fine." She moved even closer, draping her leg over his thigh. "This is good."

Rubbing his chin along the top of her head, he reached for the comforter and pulled it up higher on their frames. Settling his right hand back on her bicep he shifted slightly and moved his left hand to her stomach. Sophie was right, this _was_ good.

It was better than good.

(())

"I'm fine." She pushed the words through her injured jaw as her hand hovered along her cheek. She would definitely have a bruise, but it didn't feel like anything was broken.

She kept eye contact with Daniel Jemsen as she spoke, but her words were really for her teammates. Over her comm she could hear all of them speaking at the same time.

_Hardison: "Is it just me, or did that sound like a slap?"_  
 _Parker: "Did he hit her!?"_  
 _Nate: "Soph, are you alright?"_

All of them speaking at once.

All of them except for the one person she most wanted to hear speak. She repeated, "I'm fine." And then she gathered up the pieces of her role around her and continued her manipulation of Mr. Jemsen. "Daniel, I wasn't trying to make you angry, I just wanted you to understand that your sister..., your sister isn't as trustworthy as you may think she-"

Her words were cut off by the door to Jemsen's den being cracked open, the wood splintering at the site of the lock.

The possibility that had been tingling at her senses for the past few seconds - the possibility of Eliot being really, really angry at their mark for striking her - was apparently more than a possibility.

Eliot's voice hadn't been heard exclaiming over the comm after she was hit because Eliot wasn't a man of words, he was a man of action. And as she'd feared, he hadn't responded because he was in motion.

His eyes darted around the den, taking in her sprawled figure, then taking in Daniel Jemsen's surprised figure. Then before she could even try and wave him off, Eliot was in Jemsen's face.

Remaining in character, she attempted to pull Eliot back from the edge. She used the name he'd taken for this con and she ordered: "Jack, leave him alone."

Eliot ignored her and drew his arm back, ready to hit Jemsen.

Desperately, she broke character and tried again, " **Eliot** , leave him alone."

He paused and glanced over his shoulder at her then, dragging his eyes back to Jemsen he growled, "He hit you."

Jemsen was taller than Eliot, but he was a soft man. Soft of body, soft of mind... and definitely soft of will. Eliot's anger was palpable, as was Jemsen's confusion and fear.

"He's sorry. He's sorry, darling." She glanced at Jemsen and prompted him, "Aren't you Daniel?"

"I – I – I am, I -"

Eliot's grip on Jemsen's neck tightened.

Turning her head slightly, she hissed at Hardison and Nate over her comm, "A little help here would be greatly appreciated!" She refocused on Jemsen and Eliot. "Eliot, I'm okay, and Daniel's sorry." She moved off of the couch where Jemsen's slap had thrown her and edged her way towards Eliot. "Just... just," her mind scrambled, "we'll find another way to make Daniel repentant for his behavior."

"He fuckin' hit you." Eliot's eyes were drilling into Jemsen's now perspiring face.

She carefully placed her hand on Eliot's cocked arm, "and I'm fine." She kept her voice soothing and low. "I'm okay Eliot."

"He could have hurt you, or the -" He stopped himself before he said the word, but they both knew what he was thinking. He gritted his teeth and repeated himself. "He could have hurt you."

Hardison came in through the door at just that moment, dressed in his butler's outfit, "Mr. Jemsen, I'm sorry to..." he put just the right bit of inflection in his tone – deference tinged with disapproval, "disturb you and your guests, but your sister called to say she unexpectedly had to go out of town and will not be able come to dinner as planned. She indicated that she will try to call you tomorrow."

Hardison's entrance and statement changed the temperature of the room.

If Jemsen had been scared by Eliot's angered presence, he was broken by Hardison's declaration; he crumbled in Eliot's grasp. "No. No!" Jemsen looked at me, "She wouldn't leave me. Not with the mess with the charity money. No!" He turned to Hardison, twisting in Eliot's grasp. "It wasn't Alyce you spoke with, it couldn't have been!" He turned back to Eliot, and then back to me "She loves me, she wouldn't... she wouldn't..." he began to shake... and then he burst into tears.

Sophie didn't frown upon men crying – they had the right to have emotions and express them as much as the female race did. But Jemsen's tears - on the heels of his blustering and being so cock-sure a few minutes ago - as evidenced by his striking her - didn't win anyone's sympathy. It is indeed sad when a man finds out that the woman he _loves_ may have betrayed him but, a man with the temerity to make millions of dollars off of fake charities... yes, well, karma is a bitch.

Eliot shook Jemsen once or twice, then with a grumble he shoved him to the floor. He turned to Sophie and letting his eyes skim her figure before reaching out and gently touching her face, letting his thumb grace her already darkening jaw. "You sure you – everything's – okay?"

"Everything's lovely." She gave a half smirk, using the side of her face that wasn't starting to swell. "Fortunately for Daniel, I have a jaw made of granite."

Eliot let his eyes drop to her stomach, "If he'd hit you in -"

"But he didn't." She sighed and lifting her hand to his, she locked her fingers in his. Using her other hand she touched her earbud and spoke. "Nate, I think Mr. Jemsen will tell us the account numbers, and be willing to make some restitution to the donators now." She looked down at Jemsen then back at Hardison, "You'll watch him?"

Hardison nodded his head, "I got this. You two go get some ice for that bruise."

She kept her hold on Eliot's hand and let him lead her out of the house.


	9. Half-way

**(One point five hours after the Charity Job)**

Eliot simply listened as Nate ranted and raved about the clusterfuck The Charity Job had almost become – thanks to Eliot's 'over reaction'. He stood there with his back ramrod straight, his eyes narrowed and at the end of the barrage, he turned on his heel and made his way to the door. When he reached it, he bit out - over his shoulder - “The man fucking hit Sophie. He’s damn lucky he's not dead.”

After the door had slammed shut behind Eliot, Nate turned and faced Sophie, a warning in his eyes as he wordlessly admonished her for putting Eliot into this frenzy by being in a relationship with him, and silently demanding that she do something to get their Hitter under control. 

Icepack on her cheek, she mutely followed Eliot's passage out of the office.

(())

 

She waited a couple of days before broaching the topic of Eliot's protective streak with him. They were seated in the bedroom, her with the duvet pulled up to her chest - a bowl of banana, caramel, and strawberry ice cream in her lap, while Eliot sat stretched out on top of the duvet next to her, his glasses on, and a newspaper in his hands. 

Putting the half finished bowl down on the nightstand next to her, she turned to face Eliot. “You know that I appreciate your protection.” She saw and heard his grip on the paper tighten. “But -”.

“I'm not apologizing.” His voice was tight.

“I don't want you to apologize. You don't have anything to apologize for, but -”.

“That's not what Nate thinks.”

“Yes, well, Nate wasn't on the receiving end of that slap. Nor is he the one you're in a,” she paused and redirected her words, “You and I are going to be parents. It makes complete sense that you feel protective towards me and the baby.” She played with the top edge of the sheet. “I wouldn't respect you as much as I do if you didn't want to kick the ass of someone you felt was threatening me or our child.”

He snorted and dropped the paper onto his lap, “Can you share that point of view with Nate?”

“But...”

“Why's there always gotta be a but?” He threw the paper on the floor then rotated his frame in the bed, so that he was on his back and his head was in her lap. He placed her ice-cream cooled hands in his and settled them on his chest as he looked up past the curve of her breasts to her face. “What's the but?”

She freed her right hand and lifted it to his head, gently stroking his hair. “Our... jobs...” she paused and started over. “You can't keep me in a protective bubble. You know that, right?”

“I can try.” It came out as a growl.

She tapped his head lightly with her hand, “Yes, well, unfortunately for you, I don't want to live in a bubble. And our jobs aren't exactly conducive to any of us remaining in a bubble.”

“You could stay home.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He closed his eyes and inwardly shook his head in preparation of the verbal bombardment that he knew was coming.

Silence.

He cautiously opened one eye and looked up at Sophie to find her staring off across the room, a pensive look on her face.

“Soph...?”

“I've thought about it. I mean, I've considered -”

He opened his second eye, “You'd stay home?”

She shook herself out of her stupor, and looked down at him. Giving a rather sharp tug on his hair, she frowned, “I said I’ve thought about it, but... no. I don't think I'd be able to do it.” She went back to playing with his hair. “They... Parker, Hardison..., Nate, they all need me. And I'd like to think that what I do, what I provide to the team is – valuable.”

He suggested, “Tara?”

“Great grifter, but....” Actually, she **knew** Tara could do her job; maybe she didn't have the same bond with the team that Sophie did, but she _could_ grift for them. In a pinch. But just because Tara existed and could do the job, didn't mean that Sophie wanted to be replaced by her. “I'd miss you all.”

“It's not like Parker, or Hardison or any of the team would just disappear out of your life.”

She clarified, “I'd miss working with you all. I'd miss grifting.” She lifted her left hand from his chest, and placed it on his chin, rubbing her thumb along his jaw. “I'm good at what I do. When I grift? I'm damn good at it. And, I enjoy it.” She lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I think I'm meant to grift.” She grinned, “I imagine I'll be 80, and trying to read people through my bifocals; trying to get them to move exactly how I wish for them to move; to do exactly what I want them to do.” She locked eyes with him. “I can stop for a few weeks, for a few months, but I’ll never completely stop grifting. I'll always be a grifter.”

She wasn't telling him anything he didn't know. He knew that the reason she was so good at what she did, was because it was in her blood. “So no bubble huh?”

She gave a small smile. “No bubble.” She let her fingers fall from his jaw, to his neck, trailing them over his adam's apple a couple of times before allowing them to drift back down his chest. “And now that we've come to the realization that I will never agree to being placed in a bubble, I think we need to come to an agreement about your behavior.”

“What behavior would you be referrin' to?”

“Your 'since she's not in a bubble, I’ll have to be her personal savior' behavior.”

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, “I can't just stand by and watch you get hurt. Just like you're a grifter? I'm a protector. I've spent my whole life fightin'; tryin' to get things: to get money, make a living, but with Nate and Hardison, and the rest of you as part of my life? I've realized what I’m really made up of... what I'm really meant to do. I'm a fighter for our little team.” He grimaced and admitted, “All of ya'll are my family now. I can't watch any of you gettin' hurt and just... sit back. Protecting you, all of you, it's not even just a desire, it's a need. I have a need to protect all of you.” 

They sat in silence for a while. 

“So, it seems we're at an impasse.”

“Looks like.”

“Nate will not be happy with you continuing to burst in on the middle of cons in a misguided attempt to save me.”

“Ain't misguided. And short of kicking me off the team, there's not a damn thing he can do to stop me from coming to your aid – whenever I see fit.” He took a calming breath and gave a small, hopeful smirk, “of course, once he finds out you're pregnant, his take on my... protectiveness might change a bit. He might become a supporter of 'the bubble plan' himself.”

“He can support that plan as much as he wants to, it's not happening! I'd go stark raving mad locked up and unable to help plan and execute our cons.”

“And we're back to the impasse.”

It was several minutes before either of them spoke again, and then, her voice was low. “I'm going to need your help managing the team when we share our news with them.”

“Managing the team?”

“Nate's going to want to do the bubble thing. Hardison won't be far behind him. And Parker... I'd imagine Parker is going to --”

“-- be so excited she'll make a child on a Skittles sugar-high look like a sloth.”

“Exactly.” Her hand smoothed over his chest, “so as I was saying, I'll need your help.”

He groaned. “How'm I suppose to help you when I agree with them?”

“By being terribly strong for me, and fighting your urge to overprotect me. Set an example for them.”

“Beatin' a guy who has the temerity to hit a woman isn't being overprotective, it's karma. Pissed off karma.”

“Daniel Jemsen was all bluster and no bite. Our dossier on him suggested he had slight impulse control issues, but that homicide or intensive violence were not in his nature. I knew which buttons I was pushing with him.... his attraction... his relationship... his _love_ of his sister? We all knew that his sister would be the key to making him admit to the charity fund siphoning. We all knew that my goal was to make him break.” She sighed, “we all knew that there was a slight chance that he'd become violent. But I – we all – made the decision that I would take the risk, the slight risk, and do whatever we could to try and recollect the monies that those poor families lost. The risk was worth it. In what we do, we're always weighing the risks and making decisions and we have to live by those decisions.”

“Or die by them?”

“What about you?! How many times have you jumped into the fray, or put yourself in harms way in order to move the con forward? That barbaric boxing con.... you let yourself be beaten silly in order to make our con think that you'd lost control of yourself and that he was responsible, at least peripherally, for murder.” Her hand was back at his jaw. “You could have been seriously hurt. And you knew it. But you still did it. You still put your life at risk because... because we've all realized we're happiest doing what we do best – in order to save the world. We, all of the team, suffer beneath damn Robin Hood complexes! It's a stupid complex for a set of thieves to suffer from, but I thought we'd all pretty much come to the realization that modern day Robin Hoods was what we are.”

“You're pregnant.” He was pleading with his tone for her to understand his thought process.

“And I'm a woman. Which means I have a vagina... which means that every time I go into a con I face, perhaps, different concerns than you, or Hardison, or Nathan do. My being a woman never caused you to break character on a con before. Can't you just....” her voice trailed off.

“I've wanted to stand between you and the bad guys more than once – just because you're a girl. You and Parker.”

“But you fought the urge. Why?”

“Because I knew the two of you would kick my ass for standing between you and a bullet.”

She clarified, “... standing between us and a bullet _'just because we're 'girls''._ ”

He continued, “... and now? You're the girl carrying my child. You can't ask me to just sit back Soph. To just sit to the side and wait while some guy loses control on you.”

“Can you try?”

His hands tightened around hers and he closed his eyes – somewhere, she thought, lost between a prayer and a curse.

“How about I agree to try and meet you half way? I'll make you a promise to try and think twice about doing grifts that put the baby in direct danger. I'll try to focus on manipulations that don't require I stand within harms way.” He glanced up at her hopefully and she promised. “I'll try! It may not always be possible to avoid trouble – our team seems to curry trouble like honey calls to bears, but, I’ll try.” She peered down at him, “IF, you agree to try and curb your protective streak; put it back to the level it was at before.”

“So we're talking about half a bubble huh?”

“And half a savior.”

He grumbled quietly for a few seconds before giving her a curt nod of agreement. 

She pushed her luck just a bit further, “And when Nate and Hardison go into protective mode, you'll not feed the fire?”

He rumbled, “As long as you keep up your end of the bargain, I'll keep up mine.”

She smiled down at him and, damnit all if he didn't feel like he'd just done the most amazing thing in the world for her. Her smile was definitely going to be the death of him.

**((Two weeks later))**

Sophie had just settled into the oversized garden tub - bubbles and fragrance covering her senses - when she looked up and saw him leaning against the doorway.

“Seriously, I'm going to get you a bell to wear; you're entirely too good at this sneaking up on me thing.” She sank lower into the tub before asking, “how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to catch a glimpse of all of the good stuff.”

She rolled her eyes in his direction, a light smile slipping onto her face. “Yes well, 'the good stuff' is under covers, you can leave now.” 

Pushing away from the door he stretched and cracked his neck from one side to the other before declaring, “You know, it's kind of funny, but I've been thinking about taking a bath all day long.” 

She raised a brow and gave a snort of disbelief. 

He responded with a small smirk, “Mind if I join you?”

She didn't mind. She didn't mind at all.... 

Well, she did fear that being close to him would further break down her defenses, but honestly, it had been too long since they'd been 'together', and she didn't know when, or if, they would really get another chance to be close to one another again.... Not that she was planning for them to have sex in the tub... or for them to really even have sex ever again; but just being in his arms... skin against skin... that would be nice. That would definitely be nice. 

She gave him a simple, non-committed answer. “If you don't mind smelling like Honeysuckle and Jasmine...” she pointed to the bubbles.

He started with the buttons of his shirt. “I think I'm man enough to handle a few bubbles.”

She reminded him that they were 'Honeysuckle and Jasmine' bubbles as he he tugged the bottom of his shirt out of his jeans and in one move stripped his shirt and t-shirt off over his head. He merely laughed and proceeded to toe off his boots before stepping further into the bathroom. When he was a couple of feet away from the tub, he unzipped his jeans and shucked them off – along with his boxer briefs. 

As he moved to the edge of the tub, and motioned for her to shift, she did her very best to try and ignore his half-aroused state. But it was definitely a hard thing to ignore. She shivered ever so slightly as she scootched forward and he stepped into the water, sliding in behind her.

Eliot hissed as he lowered his body into the tub, ”Damn woman! Are you tryin' to boil your skin off?”

“Don't be a wuss; I have every intention of spending the next hour in here, and I don't want the water getting cold.”

“If you spend an hour in water this hot, you'll be Sophie soup.”

“Sophie soup? Did you really just say that?”

He shrugged behind her, “My brain's been affected by the heat of the water.”

She snuggled a little lower in the tub... suds almost fully covering her breasts, and as she did so she jokingly responded, “I always had a funny feeling your brains weren't in the head located on your shoulders.” 

“Funny Devereaux, very funny.” He wrapped his right arm around her waist, letting his hand settle on her ever so slightly curved belly then placed his left hand on her left bicep. “So how've you been today?”

She closed her eyes, “Good. Better.”

“Nausea?” 

“Still gone.”

“'Bout a week now, right?”

“Mmm hmm.” 

“Tiredness?”

“Well I'm tired, but not to the overwhelming extent I was a few weeks ago.” She placed her hand on his thigh, “You may have even noticed that for the past week or so, I've made it to 830 – 900 pm before crashing.”

He chuckled lightly, “I had noticed.”

“No one tells you how much energy pregnancy sucks out of you.”

“But you've been feeling better – more energized – the past few days?”

“Brilliantly so.”

“Good.” 

They chattered about little things for a few minutes: the team, her classes, the self-defense courses he was teaching, her doctor's appointment later in the week, and then they settled into a companionable silence; his hands running along the skin of her arm, just gently soothing her. 

She'd almost fallen asleep, a combination of his pacifying touch, the warmth of the water, and the scent of the bubble bath, when she felt Eliot slide his right hand up from her stomach, up over her ribs, to the underside of her right breast.

Despite the heat of the water, she shivered again. “Eliot,” there was a weak warning in her voice. The weakness springing from the fact that she was suffering from a severe case of Eliot withdrawal. They hadn't had sex since the night before she took the EPT test. 

It’s not that neither one of them had _thought_ about sex. Going from nearly 'daily sex' to 'a month-and-a-half of no sex' was something one noticed – to say the least. But both of them had had their reasons for not initiating the topic. 

Eliot knew Sophie had been feeling like crap for the past six weeks: having a hard time keeping most of her meals down, weighed down by lethargy nearly all day, every day. Sex was the last thing on her mind. And he didn't blame her.

Sophie, on the other hand, yes, well she was indeed feeling like crap, but she also, somewhere in the back of her head, realized she should take advantage of this _reprieve_ from having 'sex with Eliot' and use it as the start of her long term break from him. 

All of her previous attempts to avoid or limit sex with him had fallen flat: 1) sex the old fashioned way vs IVF – Eliot won that argument. 2) sex whenever and as often as possible vs strictly during ovulation – Eliot won that argument. 

Well they were now at the point where their goal had more or less been achieved. They were pregnant. He wouldn't, couldn't, have any more excuses for their having intercourse and she'd made certain to remind herself of this fact throughout the past few weeks. _Goal achieved, no more sex needed._

…. And then there was the faint thought that kept running around in her head that said that she was perhaps clinging to an argument that she might never need. Eliot might not even **want** to have sex with her again. Oh, she _clearly **realized**_ that he enjoyed their intimacy. He clearly, clearly enjoyed it. But their sex, as pleasurable as it had been, had always been sex with a purpose. 

And their purpose/goal had been achieved. There was no real need for him to even think about having sex with a woman who would soon grow to be 1.5x's her ideal weight. Realistically, Eliot could now go off and have pleasurable sex with any number of other women. 

So whether it was due to: their goal having been achieved, or because Eliot conceivably wouldn't want to have sex with a pregnant Sophie, Sophie was fairly certain that 'sex, Eliot, and Sophie' were a triumvirate that would not be happening again.

She was certain of that, that is, until she felt Eliot's hand drifting up her torso; until she felt his damp, soapy, callused fingers cupping one of her breasts. 

“Eliot....”

“I've been good Sophie.” His head was bent and his mouth was at her ear... his voice low. “I've been patient, not pressurin' you or anything. Waitin' for you to start feeling better.” He rubbed his nose along the top of her ear. “I've been good.”

It was as much of a plea as it was a statement of fact. 

And something in her thrilled at the fact that he still **wanted** to have sex with her – pregnancy and all. 

Then,

... something in her panicked at the fact that he still **wanted** to have sex with her – pregnancy and all.

She murmured, “We did all of this so that we could get pregnant.” 

It was as much of a question as it was a statement of fact. 

She could feel his breath alongside her neck – his lips brushing the skin there as his thumb slowly skated over her nipple. 

“You know,” he responded, “I’ve been reading up on pregnancy and things, and there's a definite school of thought that says havin' sex while you're pregnant can be very helpful for the woman. Women who have sex regularly durin' pregnancy have easier deliveries. Something about the pelvic muscles being strengthened and loosened.”

She knew she was being a traitor to her own cause, but her first thought as he spoke, was: _Oh thank God there's still a reason for us to sleep together!_ Her second thought was pure rationalization. _Stronger pelvic muscles... makes sense... easier delivery for me and for the baby... definitely makes sense. Have to do what I have to do....right?_

She turned her head to the right and lifted her chin so that she was looking into his eyes. “So, what your saying is that, in order for us to ease the birthing process, we really should continue to have sex?”

Good on Eliot for keeping his face straight as he 'mulled over' her question for a second before answering it. “It's probably wise.” Going for broke, he added, “I've also read that hormonal changes around the fourth or fifth month can cause a spike, uh, in the female libido.”

“I'm not in my fourth month yet.”

“Right. No. Just sharin' information.” He continued to touch her chest, transferring his attention from her right breast to her left. He wasn't a dumb man and he'd definitely noticed she was a might bit easier to 'convince' when she was being touched.

“Mmm hmm.” She closed her eyes, relaxing beneath his touch.

“So, uh,” he could feel his cock tightening at the soft hum of her voice, “just to clarify, we're uh..., you're up to, uh...”

She took pity on him – and on herself. “Five more minutes in the tub then...” she hoped he'd attribute her flush to the heat of the water, “we'll work on strengthening and loosening some pelvic muscles.”

Her eyes were closed so she missed Eliot's 'Cheshire cat ate the canary bird' grin.

((30 minutes later))

He chest was pressed against her back, his right arm was curved under her body, and his right hand kneaded her left breast. Her left leg was arched over his left thigh and his cock was buried inside of her warmth. His movements were slow and steady despite his desire to move faster, harder; they hadn't done this in so long, but he didn't want to hurt her or the baby, so he was taking it easy... enjoying each leisurely stroke. 

As his left hand moved down her belly – reaching for the sweet spot between her legs, he asked, “You sure I'm not hurt -”

She hummed her denial, “No. No. You're not...” Her breath hitched and she arched her back, changing the angle of his thrusts ever so slightly. “Don't stop.. don't... mmm.... right there, just... right... there... harder.”

And really, who was he to deny a woman what she truly wanted? He gave in to her demand and moved a little faster, a little harder – a little more of his control slipping away from him.

He used the hand that had slipped between her legs to stroke her distended clit, a lazy pattern that quickly became more demanding, more defined; and when he felt her body curving further into his hand, pushing her more deeply onto his cock, he pinched her clit. 

She threw her head back against his shoulder and keened. The sound traveled through him, filling his veins, pushing him into his own release; and as he came, he realized just how much he'd missed the sweet, sweet sound of Sophie coming.


	10. Long, Cool Night

"So, how're we gonna do this?"

"Say it and leg it?"

He laughed, "They're gonna want details."

"What...? The night of conception? The positions we were in?"

He smirked, "Well maybe not 'those' details, but, this **is** Hardison and Parker we we're talking about... They'll want to know when we're due... and how long we've known... and do we know the gender of the baby...?"

"How about we just text the whole message to them... and then disappear for a couple of days?" She simulated texting with her fingers. "Alec, Parker, Nate, We're pregnant. We're just shy of three months. We're due in March. Gender undetermined. We're going out of town for two days. Back in time for next con. Ta ta."

"They'd be on our trail before the text got cold."

She frowned and dropped her head onto Eliot's shoulder. "This is going to suck."

"You sound like Parker."

She snuggled closer and closed her eyes. "No need to be insulting."

He chuckled and lifted his arm, wrapping it around her shoulder so that she could lay more comfortably against him. "The 'just spit it out' plan is probably our best bet, and then we just need to be prepared to sit around for 20 minutes answering questions. And then," he hugged her closer, "we can sneak away from everyone and go get a drink." He paused, "Well, I can go get a drink... we'll get you some ice cream."

"I probably _will_ need alcohol after sharing our news with them." She shifted and looked up at him... "Oooh, brilliant thought, Lee's Cream Liqueur... let's sneak away to Lee's... and I can have my ice cream and my liqueur too."

"One, Lee's is in Arizona. And two, no alcohol for you."

"Spoil sport."

"You're the one who wanted to get pregnant."

"Yes, well, you're the one who made it happen."

"Proudly takin' the blame for that." He lowered his head and brushed his lips against her forehead, "We can do this... we'll do the spit it out and run thing... and hey, we can even use your pregnancy as our escape ticket... 'Sorry guys: pregnancy..., tiring..., need to get home for a nap...'"

"You want to use our baby as a ploy?"

"Hell yeah."

She smiled against his chest, "I love the way you think."

(())

It wasn't as horrible as either she or Eliot had imagined. Of course, it wasn't as easy as they'd hoped either.

"Eliot and I have some news we'd like to share with all of you."

Hardison scooped up a spoonful of Parker's cereal (And really? They must be in love, because Parker didn't even grouse at him). "It's not about you two living together is it? Cuz we all know about that."

"No, it's not about our living arrangement."

Parker piped up, "Is it about a case?"

"No." Sophie looked at Eliot – confronted with a sudden inability to actually 'share' their news with the team.

He took the reins and kept it short and simple. "We're expectin'." He looked around the room, eying all of them until his gaze settled and remained on Nate's face.

"Expecting what?" Parker asked curiously.

Before Eliot or Sophie could respond, Hardison put the pieces together. Stumbling out of his seat he stared at Sophie, or more specifically, at her stomach.

His eyes opened wide and he swung his pointed finger at Eliot and Sophie, "Wait, wait, ya'll are 'expecting'?" He barreled ahead, "Like 'expecting' expecting? How the hell did that happen? No wait, don't answer that, I know **how** it happened, I don't need a blow by blow account. But, really, how the hell did that happen?" He turned to face Parker and Nate, "Are either of you as surprised as I am?"

Parker still sported a confused look on her face, and Nate, Nate wore a look on his face that could only be described as 'bittersweet'. For three solid seconds, his face was open and he wore that look that people get when they've tasted, heard, touched, or seen something that surprised/pleased/angered/soured/tickled/touched their senses. The look that said they didn't quite know if they were happy, sad, hot, cold, sweet or sour. A look that simply said they _felt._

The bittersweet look was masked within seconds and if she and Eliot hadn't been watching him so intently they would have missed it.

With a smile painted on his face, Nate stood up took a few steps forward and held his hand out to Eliot to shake.

Eliot gave a small nod and extended his own hand; both men using their left hands to somewhat gingerly pat one another on the back.

Releasing Eliot's hand, Nate turned to Sophie and echoed his actions with Eliot. He extended his hand to her but when she reached for his hand, he didn't simply use his free hand to pat her on the back, he instead, pulled her into a hug. He held her, perhaps a little longer then necessary, before loudly offering a "Congratulations you two."

And finally, Sophie heard it in his voice; something that she'd spent so many years wanting to hear. _Regret._

Oh, there was bluster, and faux/real happiness in his voice, but it was definitely tinged with _regret_. She'd spent longer than she cared to admit, wanting to hear Nate say he wanted her; needed her. She'd chased him, withdrawn from him, bared herself to him, protected herself from him – for years. All in hopes of drawing from him a declaration of love. Or barring that, a declaration of regret – missed opportunity. And now she had it.

She found it supremely funny, and completely anticlimactic that she had finally gotten what she wanted, and she felt... _nothing_. Nothing but a faint sense of closure. The kind of peace one feels when one has closed a door at the end of a long, cool night.

Nate didn't look at her when he released her; he didn't look at Eliot, or Hardison, or Parker. Instead he clapped and rubbed his hands together a few times before moving across the room to the kitchen. "We'll have to get in touch with Tara and see if she can lend a hand while you're out Sophie." He shrugged and opened the fridge, "Unless, of course, you'd all prefer to take a couple of months off while Sophie is out. We might be able to swing that." He pulled a beer out of the fridge. "And we'll have to have a party. We're not a traditional company, but every office has baby showers for its staff."

"Baby showers?!" Parker finally 'got' what everyone was talking about. "You're expecting!?" She hopped up from her chair and, much like Hardison had done, pointed wide eyed at Sophie's belly. "You're pregnant!" Her mouth dropped open and then she slammed it shut again. "And here I was thinking that you'd just gaining a little extra weight."

(())

"Standardly, I wouldn't do an ultrasound until after your twelfth week, but I'd like to do one for you today if you're comfortable with that." Sophie's OB Gyn typed a few notes into her laptop before looking up at Sophie and smiling.

The smile did nothing to stop Sophie's nervousness at hearing the request. "Now? Today?" Eliot wasn't with her, a last minute call from Nate to reconnoiter for their next con had him 200 miles away. Sophie peered at her doctor. Why was she asking her to take an ultrasound earlier than scheduled? Did she think something was wrong with the baby? "Are you suggesting an ultrasound based upon caprice, curiosity, or concern?"

Dr. Smythe gave another smile, "I'd label it 'curiosity'."

Sophie silently 'harrumphed'. 'Curiosity' could lean toward positive **or** negative reasoning. Realizing that not doing the ultrasound today would kill her, she nodded her head in reluctant agreement. "Fine, if you think it would be best."

"Wonderful, I'll get Trish to get you set up in the room down the hall, and I'll be with you in half a second."

(())

She turned off the bathroom light and padded into the bedroom. Eliot lay sprawled out on their bed, on top of the duvet and bed coverings, one of his hands on his abdomen, the other arm thrown over his eyes.

It had been a long couple of day for him: classes, back up for Hardison as he set up some of his 'toys' in their next mark's office, the reconnaissance job, his daily workout sessions, sharing their news with the team.

The man had earned his tiredness. Of course, he'd come home, cooked for her and grinned his horny little boy grin at her tonight indicating that he'd just be resting his eyes while she got ready for bed, but looking at him now... "Eliot?" She crept closer to the bed and peered down at him. "Eliot?" She kept her voice low. He was definitely out of it; her energizer-bunny-rabbit-of-a-man was asleep.

She stared at him, taking in the relaxed, softened edges of his features. She wanted to brush the strands of hair that were falling across his forehead back away from his face, but she was afraid she'd wake him if she touched him. And honestly, she didn't want to wake him. He needed the rest.

She quickly scanned his figure again and then let her eyes light back on his face. He was... lovely. Oh, he wasn't model good-looking, but he was definitely manly good-looking. Rugged, tough... and then there were those times when he was boyishly good-looking; a grin lighting his face, a sparkle in his eyes. And then there were times like this, when he was sleeping and so… at peace.

She reached up and turned off the lamp on his side of the bed before moving around to her side. Carefully pulling back the edge of the bed coverings, she lowered herself onto the bed... Eliot definitely needed his rest... for multiple reasons. The most immediate reason being that he'd had a long week; the secondary, long term reason was that they, the two of them, wouldn't be getting much rest for the next 18.5 years.

And Sophie had a third reason for being stealthy and not wanting to wake Eliot. She was hoping that eight hours of sleep might help her figure out how to share Dr. Smythe's news with him.

She turned on her side, curling up so that she was facing Eliot... looking at his sleeping figure. She inwardly shook her head as she thought about how wonderfully messed up things were. _Eliot had been lassoed into impregnating her. He'd agreed to stay by her side through the pregnancy. He'd even agreed to help her raise their child after it was born._ Yawning she wondered as she finally joined Eliot in his slumber, _How the hell am I going to tell him he's having twins?_

(())

In the end, she pretty much chickenshitted her way into delivering the information.

She woke up before he did and slipping from the bed, she grabbed a top, underwear and a pair of jeans and dashed into the bathroom. Within a few minutes she was dressed – her jeans held closed by a safety pin because, dammit, she refused to get maternity clothes when she was just hitting the twelve week mark – and she opened the bathroom door and peered out into the bathroom. He was still asleep.

Tiptoeing into the living room she rummaged through her purse, found what she was looking for and quickly headed into the kitchen. Five seconds late she was back in the living room, picking up her purse and the shoes she'd abandoned last night, and then she quietly left their apartment.

She sat in her car in the parking garage and grabbing her cell, she pulled up Eliot's cell number. She looked at her reflection in the rear-view mirror before gathering her limited/non-existent courage and beginning her text.

**Know I told you appt went well, and it did, but got some news. We're having twins.** She paused, how does one end this kind of text? She rolled her eyes at herself, 'normal people don't text this kind of information'.

With a sigh, she finished her text: **Sonogram on fridge. - S.**

She clicked the send button and pulling her seat belt on, she started the car and fled.

(())

It only took him 45 minutes to find her.

And she'd **known** he would find her... she'd thought she'd have closer to 2 hours before he found her, but she'd known he **would** find her.

She passed her hands nervously over her denim clad thighs before opening the door he'd been knocking at incessantly for the past half a minute.

He crowded her back into her apartment, his eyes scanning her figure as he closed the door behind him. "Okay, we have a new ground rule."

"I didn't - "

"Ground rule first." He moved closer to her, stepping in towards her until she moved backwards and her back was against the wall. "One – shit that has to do with our baby," he took a deep breath and blew it out, "our babies – Jesus Christ – you tell me that stuff right away. Tell me to my face. You don't keep it to yourself, not for three hours, not for twelve hours, not for a day. You tell me."

"I just - "

"'S'not up for debate Devereaux. Got it?"

She nodded her head.

"Alright." His frame loosened and he pressed against her lightly. "You're okay?"

She nodded her head.

"You sure?"

She nodded again.

He lifted his hands to her neck, his thumbs brushing her jaw, "Twins huh?"

She responded with faux confidence, "I've never really been one for doing things small."

He smiled, and pulling her head down a little bit, he tilted his chin up and kissed her on the forehead.


	11. Words Unspoken

Eliot chuckled as Sophie fretted with the buttons of his plaid shirt.  They were in the middle of Home Depot, on a Saturday afternoon, and apparently, she'd been hit by what he'd taken to calling her 'hornymones'. 

They were in their fifth month of pregnancy, and for the past three or four weeks, he'd been at her beck and call sexually.  Not that he – they – hadn't been _very_ sexual prior to the 'hornymones' - they had been.  But the hormones, in the last few weeks?  Yeah, he honestly hadn't needed to put in any time at the gym; Sophie was keeping him more than active.

What he found to be particularly interesting about the hormones, was that they made _her_ the initiator of their intimacy.  Throughout their brief wooing period, their attempts to conceive, and throughout most of their pregnancy: kisses, touches, makin' love, all of it had been initiated by him. She was always a willing recipient and an avid participant, but she'd never _approached_ _him_ for the kissin', or the huggin', or well for anything that resembled an admittance of her free-willed desire for him.

Had he ever doubted her attraction to him?

Not really.

Even before they agreed to their 'let's have a baby' plan, he'd known she was gorgeous, and he'd been aware that she found him - at least physically - appealing.

O' course, prior to the baby plan, there'd always been the fence/wall/barrier of Nate that kept anything more than _recognition_ of one anothers physical attractiveness at just that: Recognition. 

With the introduction of the baby plan and the intimacy that that offered, Eliot had finally been able to act on his imagination – his desire – for more.

But as he'd said, prior to the hornymones, it had always been 'him' doing the actin', making the moves, tellin' her – at least physically – that he wanted her, needed her.... thought she was damn amazing.

He'd be a liar if he didn't admit that he was finding 'Sophie the uninhibited'/'Sophie the huntress' pleasing.  It was nice to have her _coming to him_ with her needs/her wants.

And yeah, she'd been a needy little thing through the past month; the 'when's and where’s and how often's' of her desire peaking and cresting without rhyme or reason. Her body and mind picking the oddest darn times to express her need for him.

Like right now, on an early Saturday afternoon, at Home Depot, in the paint department.

They were waiting for one of the store's associates to check on the availability of a specific shade of paint in a low VOC version.  The slender, bespectacled kid had been in the back of the store with his supervisor, checking stock, for  less than an a minute before Sophie's hands were on Eliot. 

She was leaning against one of those paint display walls – with every shade of every color of the rainbow on it – and he was standing a couple of feet in front of her, facing the display, idly reviewing the colors, when suddenly, he felt her hands at the center of his shirt.  She tugged at him, and he of course, went forward willingly.  When he had moved closer to her, her hands began to toy with the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning then rebuttoning them with a practiced, if agitated hand.

The agitation was based upon her consternation at wanting him; wanting him now – when they  were in the middle of a hardware store, buying paint.  Her agitation was also based upon her inability – these days – to control 'when/where/how often' she wanted him.

Again, she'd always been a willing participant in their... intimacy, but she'd also always been able to point – if she needed to – to the fact that it was Eliot who 'instigated' (and therefore was the one who _needed_ ) what they had.

Now, the scales were definitely tilting in the other direction.

She needed and wanted him just as obviously as he did her.  And at times like this, when she was making a fool of herself [her silent self-evaluation] over him, she was pretty damn certain that she needed him a bit more than he needed her.

()

 

Hearing him chuckle lightly as her fingers acted on her mind and body's desire to unclothe him, she made her hands still – or at least, she made them stop trying to strip him.  Instead, she smoothed her fingers along his pecs and then along his ribs.  She quietly chided, “Stop laughing at me.”

 

He gave in to his desire to laugh a little harder, but at the same time, he placed his hands on her hips, “Sorry darlin', can't help it.  It's damn cute.”

 

She gave a hiss of frustration, “It's not cute.  It's irritating.”  She buried her head against his chest, “I hate not being in control.  And at the moment, I have no bloody control over my own damn hormones.” 

 

“Do you see me having an issue with you bein' _outta control_?”

 

She smiled against his chest, “You do seem rather okay with me using you for my own nefarious needs.”

 

Freeing one of his hands from her hips, he tilted her chin up and offered: “Use me and abuse me Soph; I'm all yours.”

 

As his lips touched hers, Sophie wondered if he realized just how easy it could be for her to truly believe he meant those words.  To believe he was hers.

 

((()))

 

 

Hardison grabbed the paint brush and looked at it.  “Remind me again why I'm helping ya’ll paint in your new house?”

 

Eliot pried open the can of _Desert Desire_ paint, carefully placing the lid on the plastic that covered the expanse of the living room.  He picked up the stir stick and gently began to mix the paint.  “1) Even though this is low VOC, I want to keep Sophie's exposure to the fumes as minimal as possible. 2) Soph is out shopping for maternity and baby clothes with Parker 3) if you don't help me, there's going to be some painful ass-kickin' going on.”  He lifted his head and grinned in Hardison's direction, “and I want to remind you that it was Parker who said she'd do the ass kickin' if you didn't help out.”

 

“All of ya'll  just need to stop thinking about my ass,”  Hardison arched his back and looked down over his shoulder “I mean, I _know_ it's a great, great ass... but these threats, these jealous threats, to kick it?  Misplaced jealousy man... misplaced jealousy.”

 

“Okay, see, no... I ain't jealous of your ass.  Your ass ain’t all that.  My ass on the other hand,” Eliot paused stirring and speaking at the same time.  “And we’re done with this conversation as of right now.”

 

Hardison leaned over the can of paint and dipped his brush in.  “All I’m saying is that I’ve got a great ass, and you’re the one who started the conversation.”

 

“That better be the last time the word ‘ass’ comes out of your mouth today.”

 

“Jealousy does not look good on you man.  It does **not** look good on you at all.”

 

Eliot merely grunted as he poured the paint into the pan.  “Stop admiring yourself and get some paint up on the walls.  The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can send you home and spend some quality time with Soph.”

 

Hardison re-dipped his brush into the can Eliot had placed back on the floor.  “So this whole ‘Sophie and you’ thing, how’d you managed to pull that off?”  He ran the brush along the edge of the window frame, “I mean, I get why you’re drawn to her, but… honestly man… how’d you manage to get her to want to be with you?  I mean, you’re not her normal type.”

 

“Her normal type?”  Eliot ran the roller through the pan.

 

“Oh you know, handsome, debonair, creative, intelligent...”

 

Eliot growled and glared at Hardison over his shoulder.

 

“Oh come on now, you know what I mean. I mean, you’re _alright_ and everything _,_ but Sophie’s the type who normally dates Counts and Dukes and billionaires.  None of which you are.”

 

Before Eliot could respond, Hardison continued.  “She’s normally drawn to men with art collections, or men who’ve written books on art, that kind of shit.  The closest you come to an art collection is your Harley memorabilia.” Hardison dipped his brush into the paint can again.  “Seriously man, what does she see in you?”

 

Eliot wasn’t actually positive about the answer to that question.  He’d wondered what he could do to gain her interest when they’d started this whole adventure, and now, ten months into their agreement and he still wasn’t positive he was bringing what she needed to the table.   He snarled in Hardison’s direction, “How the hell did you manage to lasso Parker?”

 

Alec paused his brush in mid-air, “Man, I’d be lying if I said I knew.”

 

Eliot’s snarl turned into a laugh as he continued to roll paint on the wall, “Maybe it was your ass.”

 

(())

 

They'd nearly finished painting the living room when Parker and Sophie pushed through the front door of the house. 

 

“Parker, honey, they're about the size of grapefruits right now.”

 

“Why do people always compare babies to food?  Size of a peanut, size of an orange, size of a grapefruit, size of watermelon.  Isn't there something a little macabre about those comparisons?”

 

Sophie  dropped the bags she was carrying on to the floor and gave a snort of laughter in response to Parker's thought patterns.  Stepping further into the foyer, she took in the sight before her: Hardison and Eliot, speckled with paint in a lovely shade of purple.  She quickly perused  their progress in the room then she turned her focus on Eliot.  He was using a paint roller to reach the top left wall next to the built in bookshelves.  And he was – adorable.

 

She stepped onto the plastic covered hardwood floors and moved in his direction, smiling when he turned around and grinned in her direction.  “You two back alr -”

 

She cut him off with a kiss.  A hello kiss. A 'thanks for painting' kiss. An 'I'm hungry for you' kiss. 

 

With his hands covered with paint and holding the paint roller, Eliot couldn't do much more than respond to the pressure she placed on his lips.  But when she pulled away, flushed with the sudden realization that she'd accosted him, in front of their friends, he cursed lightly and  did the 'unthinkable'. Releasing one paint spattered hand from the roller he wrapped it around her Dior swathed waist and he tugged her back in to him, dropping a soft, chaste kiss onto her lips.

 

“Welcome home.”

 

Licking her lips, she blinked, “We bought tons of goodies.”

 

“Maternity clothes?”  He released her waist and grasped the roller again.

 

She scrunched up her nose with distaste.  “Yes, dammit, I bought maternity clothes.” 

 

She'd spent the last month squeezing her way into clothes that were sinfully too tight and in the last week she had finally gotten to the point where the only things that fit her were her PJs and her elastic waisted Pilates pants.  He'd been pushing her for weeks to invest in maternity clothes, but pride and denial had kept her from going shopping for what she really needed.   In the end he'd had to bribe her by agreeing to paint the living room of their new home 'Desert Desire' _only_ if she finally went shopping for some clothes that fit.

 

“I also bought some cute baby outfits, oh, and there's a small dresser in the back of your truck, if you and Alec could bring it in?”

 

“How'd you two get it into the truck in the first place?”  He asked the question accusingly; Sophie was doing way too much physically, to keep him happy.

 

She stuck her tongue out him and pointed at Parker.  “She's freakishly strong.”

 

Parker grinned, “I am!”

 

Walking out of the living room in the heels that she still insisted on wearing when she went out, Sophie pulled the, now, paint stained top that Eliot had touched, away from her back.  “I’m going to go and change and then Parker and I can show you the adorable things we purchased.”

 

()

 

Fifteen minutes later and Eliot and Hardison were done with the living room and gathering up their supplies. 

 

“I'm starving,” Sophie padded to the entry way of the living room, Parker bouncing along behind her, “Any more of that lovely stew left?”

 

Eliot looked up from the can he was tapping the lid back on to, and nearly choked on his own breath.

 

Sophie had said she was going to change, and he'd assumed she'd put on something more comfortable, maybe one of her gowns and robes.  Or that maybe, she'd pull out one of the new outfits that she'd purchased.  But she hand't changed into either option, instead, she was wearing _his_ clothes; a pair of his sweatpants and one of his flannel button downs.  The clothes were simple... and relaxed, and so not what she normally wore... and she was damn beautiful in them.

 

“Eliot?” 

 

“Yeah.  Uh, yeah, the stew's in the fridge.”  He turned back to the paint can, “Hardison and I will be right in there.”

 

He could hear Parker chattering at Sophie as they both headed towards the kitchen.  Picking up the resealed can he muttered to himself, G _et a hold of yourself man.  They're fucking sweatpants and a flannel shirt._   The imp on his left shouldered jeered and reminded him, _they're_ _ **your**_ _fucking sweatpants and flannel shirt.  She's wearing_ _ **your**_ _clothes._ The woman who didn't own a pair of sweats, who barely considered flannel as a part of the fashion world, was wearing his sweats and his flannel. 

 

In their home.

 

While pregnant with his children. 

 

Yeah, she was killing him.

 

And she was killing him by doing the little things.  The kisses out of no where.  The looks that she sent his way when she thought he wasn't aware.  And now, the clothes.  He knew that most of her behavior could probably be blamed on her hormones.  But there were times... minutes, when he almost thought there was more to it... that she was trying to say more to him.

 

(())

 

Sophie found it morbidly funny that while Eliot had spent their whole relationship trying to make her stop putting herself and the baby in harms way, he was the one who ended up being hurt on the job.

 

She pushed into the main entrance of the hospital, and zeroed in on Hardison and Parker who were milling around at the end of the hall.

 

“Where is he?!”

 

“Sophie, you need to calm down.”

 

“No... no Alec, I don't need to bloody well calm down.  I need to know where he is.”

 

Nate appeared from around the corner and stepped up behind her, placing his hand on her arm in an attempt to turn her focus to him. 

 

She jerked her arm away from Nate but turned to face him.  “How could you let him go in there with no back up?!”

 

“We were just going to do some reconnoitering... get some background information on -”

 

“Background information on a mark with ties to the yakuza?” She hiss loudly, “There should have been at least two of us involved in this, or, or -”

 

“Sophie, he agreed to go.  It was just a 'get in, get the information we need, get out' situation.” Nate reached for her again but she pushed his hand away.

 

“Only he didn't get away, at least, not without being hurt!”  She turned back to Hardison.  “Where is he?”

 

Alec nodded his head back towards the ER.  “They took him back fifteen minutes ago.”

 

She started to move past him when he grabbed on to her arms. “They won't let anyone back there, they're working on him.”

 

His words hit her hard.  _'Working on him'_.  She knew he'd been shot - that much information had been garbled into the voice mail she'd received from Parker.  She'd hoped, somewhere in the back of her head that it was something small. Something insignificant.  But they were in the bloody hospital, and the hospital staff were 'working on him'. 

 

Her gut clinched, and her heart stopped. She could feel the energy that had been steering her for the past twenty minutes – the adrenaline – just fade away. 

 

With one hand she gripped on to Hardison's forearm.  The other settled on her belly in an attempt to soothe herself and the babies.   “How – how bad was it?” 

 

“I don't know.  All I saw was that he'd been hit in the back, by the shoulders.”  He didn't say how much blood he'd seen, or the fact that Eliot had been unconscious when he and Nate found him.  He didn't say it, but she could see it in his eyes.

 

Her knees weakened on her and she faintly felt both Hardison's and Nate's hands on her, guiding her to the chairs that lined the waiting room.  Several seconds later and the guys stood off a few feet away from her, and Parker sat beside her.

 

“He'll be fine.” Parker's voice held a certainty that was borne purely out of determination. Determination that the world would turn in the direction she wanted it to turn. 

 

Sophie wished she had Parker's faith. She wished she had the young woman's fearlessness.  If she had those two things, she'd be less stressed at this moment.  And she'd have the peace of mind of knowing that Eliot was aware that she truly cared for him.

 

As things stood now, she'd sent out little hints... little looks, anything that might give him an inkling, without her actually having to say the words, that she enjoyed being with him. 

 

As with most of the big things in her life, she'd nearly run away from him – again – when she realized just how important he'd become to her.  But somehow, she'd managed to rally her courage and she'd stayed with him. 

 

She'd shared her revelation of wanting Eliot – truly wanting him – indirectly.  She'd let him talk her into their buying a house together.  They'd painted and were decorating the bloody place – all because he wanted the babies to have a safe/happy place to grow up in, and all because she was hanging, faintly, onto the hope and desire that what they had would last beyond their babies being born.

 

For the past couple of months she'd been doing what she did best; spinning a web.  Trying to manipulate the situation to meet her needs.  She wanted Eliot, but of course, she hadn't been able to actually tell him that, so, instead, she was touching him more – his hands, his back, his lips.  She was looking at him more, in the eyes, with desire....

 

She wanted him in the way that she had thought she'd wanted Nate.  In the way that meant happily ever after.

 

The problem was she, and Eliot, and Nate and their whole team... none of them truly believed in fairy-tales, they didn't believe in happily ever after.

 

So every move she made, every look, every touch, was offered with the realization that he'd never really want her; every word, every action, was offered with the realization that even if he did, somehow, really want her in his life, Happily Ever After didn't exist.  Not for the likes of her.

 

So she'd only let herself give him bits and pieces, signs and suggestions. Hoping he'd understand what she was saying... hoping he wouldn't.  Knowing she was screwed either way.

 

And now, now it was too late.  She'd have to bring up their children by herself.  She'd have to _tell_ them about what a caring, strong man their father had been.  She'd have to live with the knowledge that she'd never told him.  Told him she wanted him.  Told him she was the happiest she'd ever been.  Told him she was crazy about him.

 

Told him she loved him.

 

 


	12. The Fallen

 

He was lying in the hosptial bed; an IV attached to his arm, and machines attached to his body monitoring his heartbeat and his blood pressure. And while he was in an drug induced sleep, he was alive and the doctors had stated that all indicators suggested he'd be just fine – and aware - once the pain meds they'd pumped into his system ran out.

And she was so happy she was nearly prancing around like Parker on a sugar high.

Leaning over him, she brushed the hair away from his face, relishing in the warmth of his skin. She was lucky. So lucky.

It had been close. The shot to his back had missed his vertebrae by less than a centimeter, and it had missed his heart by just a centimeter. A half a breath to the left, or one breath lower and she would have lost him. Lost him before she'd had a chance to tell him that he'd given her more than she ever expected. More than she deserved.

So she'd spent the last 3 hours sitting in the ICU room they'd moved him to, staring at him... touching him. Telling his silent, unaware figure that she wanted him.

Taking a sip of the horrid coffee that someone had gotten for her from a vending machine, she scootched her chair a little closer to the side of his bed. Setting the cup down, she reached for his hand and, locking her fingers with his she began talking to him again. "So, I was thinking, when you wake up, we should hammer out some name choices, yeah?" She kept her eyes on their joined hands. "If we have a boy, I'm thinking Theodore? Or maybe Oliver? And if we have a girl what about Regina? Or Bethany?"

His fingers tightened around hers and she heard his hoarse, raw voice respond, "Regina and Oliver...," he swallowed, "No way in hell."

She slowly lifted her eyes to his face; his beautiful, rugged face. He was conscious.

Her overwhelmed and, therefore, classically reserved response was: "Look who decided to wake up."

He blinked his eyes heavily, fighting the medications that wanted to drag him back to sleep. A half smile lit his face. "Hey there."

"Hey there yourself." She lifted her free hand to his cheek. "Fair warning, if you ever, _ever_ , get seriously hurt like this again? I will finish the job and kill you myself. Understood?"

He nodded his head, then grimaced at the exertion. "Got it."

She standardly would have left it there. Made a suggestive allusion to how important he was to her and then settled back and hoped/assumed that he knew that she was saying more. But, that was before; before she realized how fragile what they had was. She'd turned over a new leaf and she was now wearing her big girl panties.

So instead of just _leaving it there_ , she blurted out: "I don't know what I'd do without you." Her eyes were glued to their hands again.

He ran his thumb along the side of her hand, "I'm not goin' anywhere."

The words were soothing, and sweet, but they were spoken too lightly for her. For the new her. "I'm serious Eliot. I – I know I'm not your type. I know I've already tied you down in more ways than you ever had planned, but... but I need you to know that I..." She gave a wry smile, "I'd watch a football game with you every Sunday afternoon if it would make you happy. And I'd even get on the back of that damn Harley of yours if you really wanted me to. I -," her voice dropped, "I think I've somehow fallen for you."

The two seconds of silence that followed her declaration were too much for her to bear and she started babbling again. "I know you're going to want your freedom... sooner or later. I get that. But... well, I just felt I needed to tell you, finally, how I feel."

She felt the pressure of his hand on hers tightening, and then she felt him tugging at her. Resolutely, she lifted her eyes and looked at him. There was a look of determination on his face. A look of determination tempered by something else that she couldn't quite identify.

"C'mere."

She furrowed her brow. _Where exactly was 'here_ '?

Eliot lifted his free hand and using his index finger, he tapped at his lips before repeating his demand/request. "C'mere."

"What -?"

"Listen woman, either you come to me, or I'm gonna come to you, and right now," he lifted his shoulders and gave a thin groan, "I'd prefer it was you doin' the coming rather than the other way around."

She cautiously stood up and shifted closer to him.

He moved his left hand and reached for her bicep, pulling her down and in towards him. When her head was inches from his, and she was lying half on the bed and half off, he cupped his hand onto the back of her neck. "It's about time you fell. But I'm bettin' you haven't fallen half as far, or half as hard as I have for you." He brought her down until her lips brushed his.

It was a soft kiss. Barely there.

But it touched her core.

Tiredly dropping his head onto the pillow he continued with a yawn, "How about we compromise. For football, you only have to watch division playoffs and the Superbowl. And as for the Harley? You give it couple of tries and if it don't turn your crank, I'll stop tryin' to make you come with me."

"Compromise?" She was still confused. Or rather, she was disbelieving of what she thought she was hearing. She gathered the moxie she was known for and poked at his chest, "Eliot Spencer, are you saying you..., you 'like me'?"

He yawned again and closed his eyes, "Kinda what I meant," yawn, "when I mentioned falling for you."

"How long have you liked me!? And why the hell didn't you say anything!?"

Using more strength then he really should be exerting at this moment and time, he jerked her more fully on to the bed and pressed her head to his chest. The word "Skittish" escaped his lips and then he mumbled, "Sleep now. Talk later."

(())

"If either of you tell me to bloody push one more time, I'm going to staple someone's penis to the wall!"

Dr. Smythe spared a look at Eliot that was half apologetic, half commiseration. "Sophie, just one more; one more big push and we'll be able to get the first baby out."

Sophie went from belligerent to scared in the passing of a second. "I can't. I can't do this. They'll, they'll just have to stay."

Eliot pushed a thick rope of Sophie's dark hair away from her face, "Can't go back now darlin', you can do this -" When she began to vehemently shake her head in disagreement, he repeated, " _You_ can do this." He sucked in a breath and leaned his head down to hers whispering softly, "C'mon Soph, the doc said just one more push... I know you can do this baby."

She shook her head defiantly before giving a mewl of frustrated pain and doing what nature and Eliot were prompting her to do. She pushed.

()

Seven hours after going into labor and Sophie Devereaux and Eliot Spencer were the proud parents of twin girls.

Abigail Elayne Spencer was born at 523 am, measuring in at 5lbs13oz and 19" long, and her sister Zoe Reese Spencer followed shortly after at 531 am, measuring 5lbs5oz and 18.5" long.

And they were perfect.

Brilliantly perfect. Dark haired, brown eyed, beautiful girls.

Sophie couldn't keep her eyes off of them. Lying in her arms. Being held by Eliot. Lying in the the bedside bassinets. They were perfect.

She hadn't done much in her life that she was truly proud of. She was a good grifter – and she had some pride in that. She had joined the leverage team and was applying her grifting skills to help others – she was truly proud of that.

But nothing she'd ever done – nothing she'd ever stolen, no one she'd ever manipulated – **nothing** , had ever made her feel as proud or as complete as seeing her little girls. Seeing them with Eliot.

She could tell, the second he held them, the second he saw them, that he was in love. Deep, unadulterated, inescapable love.

It was the same look she'd grown use to seeing in his eyes when he looked at her... when they were alone and the world's prying eyes were closed.

And yes, she knew, now, that he adored her. The Harley driving, sports loving, manly-man loved her. Despite her being the omega female to his alpha male... he loved her.

And dammit if she didn't love him back.

(())

Closing the nursery door, she moved to the bedroom to collect the monitor... she had load of laundry that she needed to put in the dryer, and she could most definitely do with some tea, but as soon as she entered the master bedroom her eyes locked on the bed.

Having twins was tiring. Wonderful, but tiring.

Flipping on the monitor she glanced at the alarm clock and then down at the mattress and then back at the alarm clock. She really really should get to that pile of laundry.

Crawling on to the bed, she laid on her back and closed her eyes. She'd just take a quick cat nap, before cleaning up around the house.

()

"Did they wear you out?"

She woke up to his chin rubbing against the crook of her neck; his arms wrapped around her frame. Yawning she stretched against him and nodded. "They're twins, I think their reason for existence is to wear me out."

He chuckled and pulled her closer.

She looked at the clock; she'd been asleep for about half an hour. She groaned and stretched again, "I need to get the laundry... and the breakfast dishes."

Eliot held her in place. "I called a cleaning service."

"Eliot..." Since before the twins were born, she'd said she wanted to do everything herself, feeding, cleaning, getting back into shape, getting back to work. Being wonder woman had been her goal from day one.

But reality was a bollocks loving bitch.

"You've been doing a great job. But they're twins. Which means they take twice as much energy and twice as much time."

"But..."

"Do we want to do it right? Or do we want to do it the hard way?"

"Fine!" She tugged his arm tighter around her.

"So you'll talk to the cleaning crew when they get here? And get a schedule set up?"

"Yes." _Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound_. "I was thinking, I'd like to get a personal trainer... just to help with the last 15lbs that I'm carrying?"

"You're beautiful."

"You're lust addled." They'd only started making love again 2-3 weeks ago but he held the same power over her that he had prior to their getting pregnant; the power to make her melt at the touch of his breath on her neck, the touch of his hand on her skin.

"I'm lust addled for you."

She smiled. "But you're okay with me having a trainer a few days a week?"

"As long as it's a female trainer."

"As long as it's a female?"

"I'm not having some pumped up, muscle bound guy looking at you and touching you while you're stretching and half dressed in workout clothes."

She turned over onto her back with a grin on her face. "I love it when you're all jealous."

"It's not jealousy."

She touched his face, her grin getting bigger, "Oh, it's jealousy alright." Her thumb moved along his cheek, "Because, Eliot darling, you love me. And I love you."

 


End file.
